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y 


ANNIHILATION 















































ANNIHILATION 

BY 

ISABEL OSTRANDER 



NEW YORK 

ROBERT M. McBRIDE & COMPANY 
1924 






Copyright, 1924, hy 
Robert M. McBride & K>- 


-?p 


z> 


Printed in the 
United States of America 



Published, 1924 


MAR 10 ’24 

©C1A777494 












CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I 

In the Rain. 



PAGE 

1 

II 

Number Four. 



16 

III 

The Nose of Dennis Riordan 



28 

IV 

The Inspector Brings News 



40 

V 

Ching Lee’s Errand . 



55 

VI 

Deadlock. 



70 

VII 

Gertie . . . . 



84 

VIII 

Gates of Mystery 



99 

IX 

In Thin Air. 



112 

X 

The Man in the Shadows . 



123 

XI 

The Closed House ... 



134 

XII 

The Breath of Death . 



145 

XIII 

“The Horror Deepens!” . 


/ 

161 

XIV 

The Blue Balloon 



174 

XV 

Midnight Marauders 



188 

XVI 

A Question Answered . 



202 

XVII 

Forewarned. 



216 

XVIII 

Checkmate !. 



229 

XIX 

Dennis Supplies a Simile . 



244 

XX 

Max. 



256 

XXI 

The Black Pyre .... 



270 

XXII 

Annihilation. 



280 

XXIII 

The Advice of Ex-Roundsman McCarty . 

299 


















































/ 




























ANNIHILATION 


CHAPTER I 

IN THE RAIN 

A SEVEN-FIFTY derby, new only that afternoon 
***• and destined already to be reblocked! Ex-rounds¬ 
man Timothy McCarty, whose complete transition to 
civilian attire was still so recent as to be a source of 
satisfaction to himself and of despair to his tailor and 
haberdasher, shrugged his broad shoulders and trudged 
sturdily along in the teeming downpour. A walk he had 
come out for, to clear his head of all that psycho-junk 
he’d been reading, and a walk he would have, but he 
could think of a place the devil could take this rain to, 
where it would be better appreciated! 

Rain dripped down upon a sodden wisp of tobacco 
which hung dejectedly from beneath his mustache, and 
muddy streams spurted up almost to his knees with every 
step. It was a mean district, a neighborhood of broken, 
narrow sidewalks, dilapidated tenements and squalid 
wooden shacks, which became more squalid as McCarty 
neared the river, although here great warehouses loomed 
against the lesser darkness of the night sky. It was 
barely nine o’clock but there was scarcely a light in the 
streets, except where irregularly spaced street lamps 
emitted a blurred glimmer which emphasized rather than 
dispelled the murky gloom, yet McCarty strode on with 
the unconcern of one treading a once-familiar precinct. 

1 


2 


ANNIHILATION 


He was not the only pedestrian abroad in the late 
September storm. Under the glow of a lamp he pres¬ 
ently descried a dark figure proceeding also in the direc¬ 
tion of the waterfront, and insensibly he quickened his 
own steps. Some peculiarity in the latter's gait had 
aroused that suspicion, more than mere curiosity, that had 
served him so well in the old days on the Force. 

The man was lurching along at an unsteady pace, 
now breaking into a shambling trot for a few steps, now 
pulling up short, only to dive forward once more, reeling 
through the driving sheets of rain. McCarty followed 
closely. He had almost overtaken the man when a tall, 
bluecoated figure stepped suddenly from the shelter of a 
doorway and barred his progress. 

“None of that, my lad! For what are you following 
that feller there—? Glory be, it's Mac!" 

“True for you, Terry!" McCarty responded, as their 
hands met in a mighty grip. “A fine, conscientious bull 
you are, I'll say that for you, pinching the old has-been 
that got you on the Force, just because he’s taking a bit 
of a stroll on a grand night like this!’’ 

Officer Terrence Keenan grinned sheepishly in the 
darkness. 

“It’s a grand night, all right; for ducks!’’ he amended. 
“You’re no has-been, Mac, from what the boys tell me of 
the different cases you’ve taken a hand in on the quiet 
since you resigned from the Department, but you needn’t 
give me the laugh for looking you over just now! You 
know this neighborhood as well as me, and when I see 
a guy trailing a prosperous looking drunk towards the 
riverfront and the wharves it’s up to me—’’ 

Drunk, is it ? McCarty demanded in fine scorn. 
Then he checked himself and added with a sweeping ges- 


IN THE RAIN 


3 


ture toward the greenish glow from twin lights across 
the street: “I was minded to take a stroll through my 
own old beat and drop in at the house over there for a 
word or two with you and the Lieutenant at the desk, 
when I saw the guy ahead—but where is he? He couldn’t 
have got in one of the warehouses at this time of the 
evening and there’s nothing else between here and the 
corner—?” 

“Aw, let him go!” Officer Keenan interrupted good- 
naturedly. “Honest, Mac, I ain’t got the heart to run 
them in these days, when the stuff is so hard to get, and 
all—!” 

But McCarty was not listening. Forgotten alike were 
the bedraggled derby and the affluent private life of which 
it had so lately been sign and symbol; he was back on his 
old beat with something doing, and he grabbed his brother 
officer by the arm. 

“What’s that there beyond the lamp-post, half in and 
half out of the gutter? It’s him, Terry, he’s down!— 
Come on!” 

Terry needed no second bidding now. Together they 
ran, splashing through puddles and over the loose, tilting 
fragments of pavement to where the man lay. He had 
pitched forward, his face hanging over the curb’s edge, 
down into the swirling gutter. The back of his head 
showed a bald spot gleaming in the misty rays from the 
lamp. 

“There’s some heft to him!” Terry grunted. “Now 
I’ll have to run him in for safe-keeping. What’s that 
he’s jabbering, Mac?” 

Between them they had turned the prostrate man, who 
was breathing stertorously and muttering to himself in 
broken gasps. The young policeman’s flashlight revealed 


4 


ANNIHILATION 


a heavy, smooth-shaven face, distorted and pasty gray 
beneath the rivulets of muddy water that coursed down 
it, with small, close-set eyes darting about in a wild, dis¬ 
tended gaie. 

McCarty bent lower in an effort to distinguish the 
hoarse accents. His companion commented disgustedly: 

“He's worse than I thought he was! Look at the 
rolling eyes of him! It'll be Bellevue, I’m thinking—" 

“Hush!" McCarty commanded, as he lifted the man's 
head higher on his knee. His breathing had become a 
series of heaving gasps now. Suddenly, with a rumbling 
snort, they ceased altogether, the flabby jaw sagging as 
the lids drooped. 

“Not Bellevue, Terry; the morgue, more likely." 
McCarty spoke solemnly. “He’s gone." 

“Croaked!" Terry started up. “It sure looks like 
it! I’ll run across to the house and tip off the lieut. and 
put in the ambulance call. You’ll wait here?" 

Without pausing for a reply he turned and splashed 
heavily across the street to the station house. McCarty 
looked down at the figure still propped against his knee. 
In the feeble light of the street lamp it appeared to be 
muffled to the neck in a loose, dark ulster of some thin 
material. The body was portly though not actually 
stout; the upturned face, washed clean of the mud from 
the gutter, was a grayish blur, its hideous distortion of 
feature relaxed, leaving it a mere flaccid mass. Some 
involuntary movement of the supporting knee caused the 
head to slump forward on the dead man’s breast and once 
more that small, round bald spot gleamed whitely from the 
scant, dark hair surrounding it. 

“Mike Taggart—he’s lieutenant now, as you may 
know,—says it’ll be all right to bring the body over there 


IN THE RAIN 


5 


without waiting out on such a night for the ambulance.” 
Terry had waded back through the reeking mire. “He’d 
be glad of a word with you, too, Mac, so will you give 
me a hand with the old boy here? It’s only a step.” 

With a slight shrug and a smile that was lost upon his 
companion McCarty assumed his share of their limp bur¬ 
den. Together they bore it across the street to the 
station house. He blinked in the sudden glare of light, 
as the sodden figure was deposited on the floor, and then 
turned to greet the homely, spruce young giant who had 
come forward from behind the desk. 

“So it’s Lieutenant* Taggart now, that was a rookie 
when I left the Force!” he exclaimed with a laugh. “I’d 
thought to drop in on you one of these days but not as 
part of the escort for our friend here!” 

He motioned over his shoulder toward the body and 
the lieutenant shook hands with obvious respect before 
advancing to examine it. 

“Glad to see you, McCarty, though you do come in 
strange company!” He smiled and then turned to Of¬ 
ficer Keenan who had knelt and was running his hands 
over the inanimate form in a practiced manner. 
“Humph! Looks like a pretty prosperous sort of a bird 
to be hanging around the waterfront on a night like 
this, don’t he? What do you find on him, Terry? I 
don’t believe I ever saw that face in this precinct be¬ 
fore.” 

As the policeman turned over to his superior the con¬ 
tents of the dead man’s pockets, McCarty stood gazing 
thoughtfully down upon him. He was apparently in the 
late forties and in life the beefy, extremely close-shaven 
face might have been florid; the nose was short but highly 
arched and the lids which had opened now revealed the 


6 


ANNIHILATION 


small, pale eyes set in a dull stare. His raincoat, of ex¬ 
cellent texture, had been opened to admit of Terry’s 
search, and disclosed a dark brown sack suit and tie of the 
same grade of conservative excellence as the outer gar¬ 
ment, but the low brown shoes that covered the large, 
rather flat feet were as incongruously inferior as they 
were blatantly new. The man’s hands were outstretched 
limply, palms upward, with the thick though well-kept 
fingers curling slightly, and McCarty’s keen eyes nar¬ 
rowed a little as they rested on them. Then he turned. 

“Lieutenant, I think I saw his hat go sailing off down 
the gutter as we carried him across. Shall I get it while 
you and my friend Terry, here, go over his effects?” 

“Wish you would, McCarty.” The lieutenant glanced 
up absently from the desk where he and Keenan were 
sorting out a collection of small articles. “You must 
take a flash at these when you come back.” 

McCarty nodded and departed upon his self-elected 
errand, appropriating the flashlight which the police¬ 
man had laid on a chair. He proceeded to the opposite 
side of the street and measuring off with his eye the 
distance from the lamp-post to where the fallen man’s 
head had rested over the curb, he followed the racing 
gutter for several yards down past the further warehouse 
to where the turbid flow was separated by a pile of refuse. 
There, impaled on a barrel stave, he found the sodden, 
shapeless brown mass that had once been a soft felt hat, 
and retrieving it, he carefully examined the inner side of 
the crown with the aid of the flashlight. The gilt letter¬ 
ing denoting the maker on the sweatband was so soaked 
as to be illegible but two initials showed plainly in the 
tiny, gleaming ray:—‘B. P.* 

With his trophy McCarty returned to the station house 


IN THE RAIN 7 

to find Keenan and his superior with their heads together 
over a key-ring. 

“There’s the hat, or what’s left of it.” He deposited 
the drenched article beside the body on the floor as he 
spoke. “Terry, here, was watching the guy pass him 
and he says he was hooched up for fair, so likely there’ll 
be nothing further come of this after his folks haul him 
away from the morgue, but if I’m wanted to swear that 
[ ’ twas bootleg lightning and not the regular kind hit him, 

I Inspector Druet or any of the old crowd at headquarters 
! will know where to find me. I’ll be getting on home, for 
I’m soaked to the skin—” 

“Take a look at these first, McCarty.” The lieuten¬ 
ant invited. “Hooch or no hooch, I’m going to find out 
what this bird was doing in my precinct! If that 
jewelry’s phoney it don’t go with the rest of his outfit 
and if it’s real, what was he doing down this way with it 
on? Don’t make any crack about his relying on us to 
protect him, for you walked your beat here yourself in the 
old days and the district hasn’t changed much! What do 
you make of it ?” 

McCarty turned over the articles presented for his in¬ 
spection with a carelessly critical air. 

“Handkerchief, kid gloves, Wareham gold-filled watch, 
pigskin cigar case with two broken cigars in it, sixty— 
seventy dollars and eighty cents in change,” McCarty 
enumerated rapidly. “Nothing here marked and no 
letters nor papers, eh? That scarf pin and those cuff 
buttons, fakes or not, are what they call cat’s-eyes, I’m 
thinking. Is that all except the key-ring?” 

“It is, but if this bird purposely intended to leave every¬ 
thing off that would give him away to whoever he was 
going to meet, he slipped up! Look at here!” Lieuten- 


8 


ANNIHILATION 


ant Taggart spoke with an air of triumph as he separated 
the keys of all shapes and sizes on the ring to disclose a 
small, thin, much-worn disk of some dull metal, one side 
of which bore the single numeral ‘4,’ and the reverse three 
letters in old English script:—-‘N. Q. M.’ 

McCarty’s stubby mustache moved slightly as his lips 
tightened, but he shook his head. 

“What is it?” he asked. “I’d say it looked like one of 
those identification tags in case he lost his keys, but if 
‘N. Q. M.’ are his initials, what is the *4’?” 

The young lieutenant regarded him almost pityingly. 

“It was not meant for an identification tag exactly, 
McCarty; at least, not for any stranger that might happen 
to pick up these keys, but it’ll tell me more than just who 
this bird is and where he lived before I’m through !” 

“I hope so, lad!” But McCarty still shook his head. 
“Happen, though, when the body is claimed you’ll find 
he was Neil Quinn Malone, walking delegate for Steve¬ 
dores’ Union Number Four, and down here late for a 
date because of meeting up with some bootlegger’s first 
cousins!” 

“There’s the ambulance!” Terry spoke suddenly as a 
bell clanged up the street. His honest face had reddened 
and his tone was a mixture of forbearance and chagrin. 

“Well, I’ll take the air, boys,—and the rain!” McCarty 
sternly repressed the twinkle in his eyes. “I’m chilled to 
the marrow of me, which does no good to the touch of 
rheumatism I’ve had lately, and I need no young saw¬ 
bones in a white coat to tell me that guy is dead, even 
though there’s never a mark on him! Good luck to the 
two of you!” 

He made his way out into the storm, bending his head 
before the pelting downpour and chuckling as he turned 


IN THE RAIN 


9 


the coat collar up about his throat. The good lads back 
there would think that a few years of soft living had 
done for old Mac, and he was through! 

Yet he was not chuckling when he turned into a dingy 
little lunch-room a few blocks away and in the look which 
he bent upon his coffee cup there was more of uneasy in¬ 
decision than its steaming but doubtful contents war¬ 
ranted. He was through, though not in the way Terry 
and Taggart might be thinking. Never again would he 
intrude on a case that belonged to the department he had 
quitted! The methods had changed too much since his 
day when a plainclothes bull went out and got his man or 
was hauled up on the carpet to explain why not; it was 
bad enough when Headquarters began to be cluttered up 
with all that scientific crime detecting junk from the 
foreign police centers, but now they were opening up a 
school to teach this black art called “criminal psycho¬ 
analysis” to a bunch of fine lads in the detective bureau 
who needed nothing but the quick minds and strong arms 
that the Lord had given them* already! It was his own 
secret and* shamefaced perusal of such books on this sub¬ 
ject as he had been able to gather, that had driven him 
forth with a case of mental blind staggers earlier that 
very evening. Well, let them psycho-analyze that man 
who carried the queer tag on his key-ring! And yet—! 

It was a rare case! McCarty’s eyes glistened and his 
nostrils fairly quivered with the old eagerness as he con¬ 
sidered its possibilities. His coffee finished, he took the 
nearest subway that led to the rooms over the antique 
shop where he maintained a solitary bachelor establish¬ 
ment. 

He had expected to find it empty as usual but to his 
surprise he noted that a low light glowed from behind the 


10 


ANNIHILATION 


shades of his two front windows and on opening the en¬ 
trance door with his latchkey he was greeted by a particu¬ 
larly malodorous stench of tobacco wafted down the nar¬ 
row stairway. There wasn’t another pipe in the world 
that smelt quite like that one, and as he bounded upward 
he called: 

“Denny! If I hadn’t thought you were on duty at the 
engine house—!” 

No reply came to him, however. He rounded the stairs’ 
head and then paused in amazement on the threshold of 
his shabby, comfortable living-room. Dennis Riordan, 
engine driver from the nearest fire house and his particu¬ 
lar crony since they had landed from the Old Country, 
was totally oblivious to his presence. He sprdwled in 
the low Morris chair with a book in his hands, and his 
long legs writhed while his lantern-jawed face was con¬ 
torted in the agony of mental concentration. 

“Denny! Snap out of it!” his unheeded host com¬ 
manded. “What in the name of all that’s—!” 

Denny “snapped.” He dropped the book and sat up 
with a jerk, his eyes blinking. 

“So you’re back,” he remarked dazedly. “ ’Tis small 
wonder I’ve seen little of you these days since you’ve 
taken to literature! Newspapers have been your limit 
up till now but here I use the latchkey you gave me, think¬ 
ing to get in out of the rain whilst I’m waiting for you, 
and I find these books. Man, they’re fair wonderful!— 
But what do they mean?” 

“I don’t know yet and I misdoubt the guys who wrote 
them do!” McCarty’s tone was almost savage as he de¬ 
posited his dripping hat tenderly on the corner of the 
mantel and peeled off the sodden topcoat. “Which one 
had you there?” 


IN THE RAIN 


11 


“ 'The Diagnostics of Penology.’ ” Denny picked up 
the volume once more and read the title laboriously. “I 
thought a 'diagnostic’ was an unbeliever and you’d taken 
to religion in your declining years, but ’tis all about the 
different kinds of criminals. I never knew there was 
but one—a crook!” 

"No more did I.” McCarty lighted a cigar reflectively. 
"There must be something in it, though, for that’s the 
stuff the commissioner is going to get through the heads 
of the boys at headquarters in this new school of his.” 

"Is it, now!” Dennis’ tone held a touch of awe. "Do 
you mean that all they’ll have to do when a crime’s 
committed will be to sit down and figure out whether the 
lad who pulled it off was a lunatic, maybe, or ’twas born 
in him, or a matter of habit or the only time he’d try it, or 
else that he’d been brought up to it? And what would 
the crook be doing meanwhile? He’d still have to be 
caught.” 

"It would all help, even though we don’t get the hang of 
it, or the commissioner would not be trying it on the 
boys,” declared McCarty loyally. "Some of them that 
have not yet been promoted to headquarters would not be 
hurt by anything that would teach them to use their heads 
now and then, I’m thinking!” 

There was that in his voice which made his companion 
straighten in his chair, the mild gray eyes sparkling with 
eager interest. 

"Who’s been blundering now?” he demanded. "I ought 
to have known you would not be trailing around in the 
storm till near ten o’clock for the sake of your health! 
What it it, Mac ? For the love of God, are you on an¬ 
other case?” 

"I am not!” responded McCarty with dignity. "I’m 


12 


ANNIHILATION 


a real estate owner, as well you know, with no connection 
with the police department any more, and if an exhausted 
man in mortal terror or agony drops dead in his tracks 
and they ship him to the morgue as an acute alcoholic 
it’s nothing to me!” 

Dennis emptied the contents of his pipe into the tray 
and rose. 

“Where do we start from?” he asked excitedly. 
“Thanks be, Fve the next twenty-four hours off duty! 
Do we have a talk with his folks first or what ?” 

“First and last, we mind our own business this time!” 
McCarty waved toward the chair. “Sit down again and 
light up, Denny, and HI give you the dope on it, though 
there’s little enough according to Terry Keenan and Mike 
Taggart—” 

“Terry Keenan and Mike—!” Dennis obeyed tensely. 
“That’ll be down in the old precinct, then, along the 
waterfront! Who was the guy and what was he running 
from when he dropped?” 

McCarty gave an account of the evening’s occurrence, 
concisely yet omitting no significant detail. When he 
had finished, his visitor sat silent for a moment, turning 
the story over in his none too quick mind. Then he re¬ 
marked : 

“I don’t get it at all, Mac. A prosperous, middle- 
aged, respectable looking fellow by what you say, with 
never a scrap of paper on him to show who he was, only 
that bit of a metal tag! He must have been running from 
somebody! Did you look behind you?” 

“I did not, and neither did he.” McCarty paused. 
“Mind you that, Denny! I didn’t say he was trying to 
get away from anybody. The way he was running and 
stopping and then reeling along once more showed that 


IN THE RAIN 


13 


if he was not half-crazed with pain, ’twas only will power 
kept him going as far as he got. When Terry and I 
turned him over, the gray look of his face came from 
more than his slowing heart. It was horror that stared 
out of his eyes! He was conscious, too, though the end 
came in less than a minute, and muttering with his last 
breath.” 

“Do you think he might have been going some place 
down among the wharves at that hour, and running till 
his heart burst to get there on time?” Dennis’ pipe had 
gone out in his excitement and he laid it on the tray with 
a tremulous hand. “Was it blackmail? Did he think 
whoever was waiting would kill him if he didn’t show 
up? Mac, what manner of man was he? Fine quality 
clothes and cheap shoes, elegant jewelry and a gold-filled 
watch that could be bought on the installment plan! 
The cigar case was real pigskin, you tell me, but—what 
kind of cigars was in it?” 

“Denny, you’ve rung the bell again, even though you 
don’t know it!” McCarty gazed for a moment in af¬ 
fectionate but unflattering surprise at his old friend. 
“The cigars were Coronas, and there’s no better nor more 
costly made! For all the clothes were of grand quality, 
they didn’t fit him; they’d been carefully altered but 
they’d been made in the beginning for a taller and thinner 
man—and they’d had good wear. Only the cheap shoes 
were new, and though the links and pin were as rich¬ 
looking as any swell would sport they were fakes, even 
if I wouldn’t give Taggart the satisfaction of telling 
him so! He’d too close a shave, remember, and his hands 
showed no signs of hard work; don’t you make anything 
at all out of it?” 

“He could wear the clothes, though not the shoes, of an- 


14 


ANNIHILATION 


other man—smoke his cigars, copy his jewelry, keep his 
own hands soft—? No, there’s no sense to it, whatever V 9 
Dennis shook his head slowly. “You’ve something up 
your sleeve, but what makes you figure so much on the 
close shave of him ? Why was that number 'four’ on the 
other side of the tag with his initials on the key-ring? 
Did you look to see if the same letters was in his hat?” 

“It had dropped down into the gutter when he fell.” 
McCarty had refrained for the time being from mention¬ 
ing his errand after the missing headgear. “Did I say 
that 'N. Q, M.’ were the dead man’s initials? I fitted a 
made-up name to them in joke when Taggart was so sure 
about it, but it might be an address as well. You’ve 
known this town as long and as well as me, Denny; did 
you ever hear of the New Queen’s Mall?” 

“That I do,” said Denny. “You mean that one block 
running through from the Park to the next avenue, with 
gates shutting it in at both ends, as though the families 
living in the houses on the two sides of the street was too 
good to mix with the rest of the world ? It’s right in the 
heart of the millionaires’ part of town, with the swellest 
society all around, and ’twas named after some grand 
place in London, wasn’t it ?” 

McCarty nodded. 

“The Queen’s Mall. The Burminsters came from there 
and they owned most of the property on both sides of 
this block here. The great corner mansion on the north 
side nearest the Park is where they live, and they moved 
heaven and earth to close in the street with gates, the 
families in the other houses liking the idea fine. The news¬ 
papers put up a holler about the street being a public 
thoroughfare and the whole business being contrary to 
democracy, but that little bunch of millionaires had their 


IN THE RAIN 


15 


way. That was long before ever you and me came to 
this country, Denny, but the inspector told me about it, 
and it’s brought up even now when there’s occasion for it 
at some election time or other—” 

“Number Four, New Queen’s Mall!” Dennis inter¬ 
rupted witheringly as he emptied and pocketed his cold 
pipe and rose with a glance at the clock. “ ’Tis twenty 
minutes to eleven, and you sit there giving me a history 
of New York! What are we waiting for?” 


CHAPTER II 


NUMBER FOUR 



T the corner the two self-appointed investigators 


found a taxi and Dennis, for once taking the lead, 
insisted upon engaging it. McCarty had protested loudly 
against this excursion, but the recounting of the strange 
event at the waterfront had aroused all the sternly-re¬ 
pressed longing to be back in the game once more, and al¬ 
though he was bitterly resentful of the new order of 
things at headquarters since his day the fascination of 
the mystery itself had gripped him with irresistible force. 
Not for worlds would he have admitted it to his compan¬ 
ion, however, and as they rattled eastward through the 
Park he grumbled: 

“You must have taken leave of your senses entirely, 
Denny, and I’m no better, letting you drag me out again 
on a night like this to gawk through barred gates at a 
row of rich men’s houses! I’ve one satisfaction, though; 
’twas you and not me, as you’ll kindly remember, that 
hired this robber taxi!” 

Dennis grinned to himself in the darkness. 

“You’re welcome to the ride, Mac!” Then his tone 
lowered seriously. “I’ve been thinking this thing over, 
and I must have been wrong on that blackmail notion; 
that the fellow was on the way to pay any, I mean, if 
he had only a matter of seventy dollars on him. I’m sur¬ 
prised at you, though, and even at Terry and Mike Tag- 


16 


NUMBER FOUR 


17 


gart, that not one of the three of you thought to go back 
across and get the hat; it could not have sailed far, in spite 
of the hill there and the gutters running over. Tis not 
like you—” 

“Damn the hat!” McCarty interrupted irascibly. “ Tis 
the man himself I’m thinking of; now if the cold, muddy 
rain-water in the gutter had anything to do with it—?” 

He mumbled and lapsed into silence and after a discreet 
interval his companion observed in an aggrieved tone: 

“Through more than muddy rain-water have I followed 
you on many a case you’ve dragged me into, but if the 
grand education you’ve been getting lately from those 
books has made you talk in riddles, you can keep the an¬ 
swers to yourself for all of me! By the same token, if 
that fellow was not running away from anybody or hurry¬ 
ing to meet them but was just chasing along like that 
through the storm, staggering and stopping and leaping 
forward again, he must have been out of his head en¬ 
tirely, and the asylum would have got him if the morgue 
hadn’t!” 

“True for you, Denny; that’s what was in my mind 
just now,” McCarty replied with a contrite return to his 
habitual geniality. “Not about his being a lunatic, 
maybe, but delirious from sickness or suffering. When 
he fell, with his head hanging over the gutter and the cold 
water rushing over his face I was thinking it brought 
back his consciousness for that minute there at the end. 
You could see by the look in his eyes and the way he 
fought for breath that there was something he was trying 
his best to tell, something that filled him with more horror 
than the fear of death itself!” 

“ ’Tis a lot to see in a man’s eye,” Dennis remarked in 
unusual skepticism. “Maybe he’d no notion of dying; 


18 


ANNIHILATION 


he seems to have been a pretty healthy looking fellow, 
from what you tell me. If those books are getting you 
to read meanings in people’s faces that are not there you’d 
best be sticking to the newspapers!” 

“ ’Tis small meaning anybody could read in yours, my 
lad!” the indignant student retorted. “Here we are and 
the gates are shut, just as I told you. What’s the next 
move? You started this, Denny, and it’s up to you!” 

But it proved to be up to neither of them, for, as Mc¬ 
Carty descended from the taxi before the great gates of 
wrought iron which spanned the side street, a tall figure 
emerged from the shadows and a well-known voice ex¬ 
claimed in accents of satisfaction not untinged with 
amusement: 

“There you are, Mac! I’ve been waiting for you.” 

“Inspector!” McCarty gasped, gaping at his former 
superior. “How in the world did you know—?” 

Inspector Druet laughed. 

“How did I know you’d be on the scent with the trail 
fresh and the wind your way? Good evening, Riordan; 
it’s like old times to find you following Mac’s lead again.” 

“ ’Tis Denny that’s leading this night,” averred Mc¬ 
Carty, with a chuckle, as Dennis turned to pay the taxi 
driver. “In spite of the rain and all, he was possessed to 
come and have a look around here when I told him about 
the drunk that fell dead across the street from the station- 
house down by the waterfront!” 

“The ‘drunk,’ eh?” Inspector Druet tapped a leather 
case which he carried. “I have the man’s hat here which 
you found in the gutter, and I needn’t ask if you saw the 
initials inside, though you said nothing to the boys at 
the house. When I found out you’d been on the scene, 
and got a line from them on the way you’d collected all 


NUMBER FOUR 


19 


the dope on the case and then quietly faded away with a 
pathetic reference to rheumatism, I knew you would be on 
the job. Then your phone didn’t answer a little while ago 
and I was morally certain you had read that identification 
tag correctly and were on your way here, so I waited. 
It looks as though this was going to be bigger than it ap¬ 
peared at first.” 

They had drawn under the comparative shelter of an 
overhanging cornice, and Dennis, who had turned to gaze 
reproachfully at McCarty when the hat was mentioned, 
asked with lively interest: 

“Do you mean, Inspector, that the fellow didn’t just 
drop dead by accident? What was the initials? Who 
was he?” 

“The initials are ‘B. P.’ ” The inspector spoke with 
added impressiveness. “I have a list of all the house¬ 
holders on this block; there are only a few, for you can 
see by the street-lamps that each place is several times the 
size of an ordinary city lot. The owner of Number 
Seven is Benjamin Parsons, and if this is his hat—?” 

“But the tag on the key-ring said Number Four,” 
Dennis observed doubtfully as the inspector paused. 
“Somebody named ‘B. P.’ might live there too, sir.” 

“Number Four is occupied by a bachelor alone, a Mr. 
Henry Orbit.” The inspector shook his head. “I don’t 
know how the keys of his house came to be in Parsons’ 
pocket, but that’s a detail. Here’s the private watch¬ 
man now; come on.” 

He moved out toward the gateway in the middle of the 
street but McCarty laid a detaining hand on his arm. 

“Just one minute, Inspector. Well I know I’ve noth¬ 
ing to do with this case, if there is a case in it at all, but 
’tis easier to change hats than houses, and if you stop 


20 


ANNIHILATION 


by first at Number Four, and—and let me do the talking 
to whoever opens the door— ?” 

He hesitated and Inspector Druet flashed him a keen 
glance. 

“What is it, Mac?” he demanded quickly. “Have you 
seen more than I have in this ?” 

“I’ve seen the corpse, sir,” McCarty returned evasively. 

Along the enclosed street the solitary figure of the 
private watchman was advancing with quickened step. 
When he reached the gate the inspector spoke to him in a 
low but authoritative tone. The watchman uttered a 
startled exclamation and a brief colloquy ensued during 
which McCarty and Dennis gazed up the wide vista of the 
street beyond the high iron bars. In the glow of the 
lanterns which lighted the Mall the smooth pavement 
glistened like a sheet of glass under the dancing raindrops 
and the houses on either side, built of gleaming marble 
or the darker brownstone of an older period, looked like 
miniature palaces, with their vaguely outlined turrets and 
towers and overhanging balconies. Straight ahead loomed 
another gate, behind it the inky mass of foliage of the 
great park across the Avenue, untouched as yet by the 
season’s first frost. 

“ Tis like a picture-book scene, even in the night!” 
Dennis remarked, and then he shook his head. “But it’s 
too restricted, entirely. For all its grandeur, the folks 
living in there will be having no more chance of keeping 
their private affairs one from the other than if ’twas a 
row of workman’s cottages out in the factory suburbs! 
’Tis small mystery could last for long inside these gates!” 

“I’d rather be outside them and free, than cooped up in 
there for all the millions these families have,” acquiesced 
McCarty. “The watchman’s opening up, though, and the 


NUMBER FOUR 21 

inspector is beckoning. Will he be letting me have my 
way, I wonder?” 

The great gates swung inward and the three passed in, 
the inspector leading and turning to the south sidewalk 
which was bordered by the houses bearing even numbers. 

“Of course I know the servants belonging to every 
household on the block,” the gray-haired watchman was 
saying in a slightly lofty tone. “Mr. Orbit has none with 
the initials you mention, Inspector, and no house guests 
at present or I should have been notified. It’s my busi¬ 
ness, and the day man’s, to know everybody who comes 
and goes through the gates.” 

“You see, Mac?” Dennis nudged his companion. 
“ ’Tis worse than a jail!” 

But McCarty paid no heed. He was eyeing the house 
fronts as they passed with a gaze of critical absorption, 
giving quick glances at the occasional lighted windows of 
those across the way, but the latter were all discreetly 
curtained, and the first two' houses on the south side were 
utterly dark. The third—Number Six—was a rococo 
affair of some pinkish stone, bristling with tiny pointed 
turrets and unexpected balconies. Here a brilliant light 
shone from the upper floors, but the next house—Num¬ 
ber Four—although small in contrast to the mansions 
across the street, gave an impression of size in its stately 
lines of snowy marble, broken only by the windows with 
dark, graceful vines trailing from the boxes on each sill. 

It appeared to be attached to the farther house by a con¬ 
servatory of some sort, but there was no time to explore 
further, for the watchman had halted and Inspector Druet 
mounted the steps and rang the bell. McCarty followed 
with Dennis at his heels. As they paused, waiting, the 
soft but deeply resonant tones of an organ came to their 


22 


ANNIHILATION 


ears from behind the windows to their right, from which 
emanated a subdued glow of light. 

From the far end of the street behind them a faint gong 
sounded and with an exclamation of annoyance the watch¬ 
man hurried off to open the gate on the park side for the 
entrance of a motor car. He had scarcely passed beyond 
earshot when the inspector whispered to McCarty: 

“What’s the idea, Mac ? Did you hear what the watch¬ 
man said? ‘B. P.’ didn’t belong here, in spite of the tag 
on the key-ring.” 

“No more he did, sir,” McCarty agreed, but there was 
no disappointment in his tone. “I just want a word with 
the one that opens the door.” 

There was no sound of footsteps from within but as 
McCarty finished speaking the door opened. Silhouetted 
against the soft light was the figure of a man, before 
whom, for the moment, even McCarty’s ready tongue was 
silenced. Dennis choked. They were confronted by a 
man who, though taller than the average of his race, was 
unmistakably Mongolian and clad in the flowing robes of 
his native land. He bowed slightly but in a dignified 
fashion, and then, as the visitors still remained silent, 
he asked: 

“What is it you desire, please?” 

His voice was high and singsong but it bore no trace of 
an accent. 

“We don’t want to disturb Mr. Orbit, if there’s been a 
mistake made, but a man who says he’s a servant here 
has met with a bit of an accident,” McCarty explained. 
“He’s kind of stout with a round, red face and a little 
bald spot on his head. Forty-five or nearer fifty years 
old, he might be. Can you tell us his name ?” 

He had edged closer to the side of the wide entrance 


NUMBER FOUR 


23 


door, so that, in continuing to face himi, the Chinaman 
had been compelled to turn until the low light played 
across his countenance but it remained gravely inscrutable 
as he listened. And although there was a perceptible 
pause, when he did reply, the words followed each other 
without hesitation. 

“It is Hughes, the valet. You desire to talk with Mr. 
Orbit? He is engaged but I will see if he can receive 
you. This way, sirs.” 

He closed the door after them and led the way into the 
house. As he walked the long queue which depended 
from his head almost to his knees swayed with each step. 

“A Chink!” Dennis whispered. “What is he, the laun¬ 
dress here?” 

Once again his remark went unheeded for McCarty was 
staring about him. He had seen many wealthy homes in 
the past, but never had he entered an apartment of such 
unostentatious magnificence as this hall of Mr. Henry 
Orbit’s house. He could not know that he walked among 
almost priceless treasures, that the dim panels on the walls 
were Catalan tapestries of the fifteenth century, that the 
frescoed ceiling had known the brush of Raphael himself, 
and that upon the great carved chair, secretly removed 
from the Duomo long ago, had once rested the exhausted 
but dauntless frame of Savonarola. The ex-roundsman 
could only feel with some sixth sense, that he was in the 
presence of beauty and he trod as lightly as his clumping 
boots would permit on the ancient, deep-piled rug beneath 
his feet. 

The Chinese butler conducted them to a spacious room 
at the left of the hall, bowed them to chairs and withdrew, 
closing the door behind him. From the room opposite 
the swelling notes of the organ rose, filling their ears with 


24 


ANNIHILATION 


a thunder of harmony which made the impressionable 
Dennis catch his breath and instinctively bow his head. 

“Come out of it, Denny! We’re not in church! ’ Mc¬ 
Carty admonished, and then turned to the inspector. 
“You see, sir, that fellow who died down there by the 
wharves was wearing his own cheap shoes but the ex¬ 
pensive hand-me-down clothes of another man not his 
own build, and who would that have been but his em¬ 
ployer? He’d shaved too often and very close like a man 
who was constantly in service, a butler or a valet, and if 
he borrowed, without leave, cigars too good for the likes 
of his taste he might have borrowed a hat, without leave 
as well. It struck me the keys was his own, though, 
along with the little metal tag and that’s why I thought 
maybe we’d save time by stopping here first.” 

“You were right, again!” Inspector Druet exclaimed 
heartily. “I was in such a hurry that I took too much for 
granted. We’ll see what Mr. Orbit can tell us about this, 
man of his.” 

But Mr. Orbit did not immediately appear, and as the 
last notes of the organ throbbed into silence, Dennis found 
his voice. 

“Valet or no, what was any one from a grand house 
like this doing down in that tough precinct by the water¬ 
front, and in all the storm ? Answer me that! What did 
he die of, did the ambulance doctor know?” 

The inspector shook his head. 

“It wasn’t up to him to say; he just pronounced the 
man dead and now it’s the medical examiner’s job, but 
we’ll know in the morning, after the autopsy. . . . What 
have you found over there, Mac, anything interest- 
ing?” 

The room into which the Chinese had ushered them was 


NUMBER FOUR 


25 


a library, modern and luxurious yet monastic in tone, with 
tall-backed, cathedral chairs, refectory tables and benches 
and dried rushes covering the inlaid marble floor. A 
single huge log smoldered upon the hearth and books 
lined the wall space from floor to ceiling between the nar¬ 
row, stained-glass windows. The light came from 
torches held in sconces and braziers suspended from mas¬ 
sive chains. 

McCarty had strolled over to a low row of open shelves 
where he stood with his back to his two companions. He 
seemed not to have heard the inspector’s query. 

“It’s literature he’s took up now,” Dennis explained 
gloomily, “all along of that new school the commissioner’s 
opening at headquarters. This psycho-whatzis has gone 
to the head of him, and I misdoubt Mac’ll ever be the 
same man again!” 

McCarty’s expression denoted symptoms of apoplexy 
at this slanderous betrayal, but before he turned he sur¬ 
reptitiously slipped into his inner breast pocket a pamphlet 
bound in pale blue paper which had fallen almost into his 
hands when he removed a larger, leather-covered volume. 
He replaced the latter and turned with dignity to approach 
the hearth once more. 

“You’ll need to lose no sleep over me, Denny, and 
there’s more than me would not be hurting themselves 
by improving their minds!” he announced cuttingly. 
“The inspector’s here on a case of—of sudden death, not 
to listen to your opinion of my private affairs!” 

There was an amused but affectionate softening of the 
inspector’s keen eyes as they glanced at his erstwhile sub¬ 
ordinate. He opened his lips to speak when a pleasantly 
modulated voice from the doorway behind them fell upon 
their ears. 


26 


ANNIHILATION 


“What can I do for you, gentlemen ?” it said. “I am 
Mr. Orbit.” 

The three visitors turned to find a tall, slenderly erect 
man in dinner clothes regarding them with gravely in¬ 
quiring eyes. He must have been well over fifty, but the 
lines in his strikingly distinguished face were those of 
strength, not age, his dark hair was only lightly powdered 
with gray at the temples and he bore himself with the air 
of a man at the apex of his prime. 

As he advanced into the room the inspector stepped 
forward to meet him. 

“Sorry to have disturbed you, Mr. Orbit, but we will 
only detain you for a few minutes. I am Inspector Druet 
from Police Headquarters and these are two of my as¬ 
sistants. We want a little information about a certain 
man who carries a tag with this house address on his key¬ 
ring.” 

Henry Orbit nodded slowly and the concern deepened 
upon his face as he waved them back to their chairs and 
seated himself in a highbacked one facing them. 

“I know of no one who carries such a tag except my 
valet, Hughes, Is he in any trouble ? Ching Lee tells me 
that, from your description, the man about whom you are 
inquiring is undoubtedly Hughes.” 

“You don’t seem surprised,” the inspector observed 
bluntly. “Has this valet of yours been in trouble be¬ 
fore?” 

A shadow of regret more than annoyance crossed the 
face of their host and he shook his head. 

“He has gotten into more than one scrape, although 
nothing, to my knowledge, of course, that would engage 
the attention of the police. I am afraid he is rather a 
scoundrel, but he has been with me for twenty-two years 


NUMBER FOUR 


27 


and I cannot believe him utterly reprehensible. Has he 
suggested to you that I would help him now?” 

“The man I’m asking about is beyond any one’s help,” 
responded the official. “He is dead.” 

“Dead!” the other repeated in a low, shocked tone, 
after a moment’s pause. “It seems incredible! Only a 
few hours ago I gave him permission to go out! What 
happened? Did some accident occur?” 

“That’s what we want to find out,” Inspector Druet 
announced grimly. “There are several suspicious cir¬ 
cumstances connected with his death. Do you know of 
any enemies he may have had ?” 

Orbit frowned slightly and his glance traveled in 
startled amazement to the faces of McCarty and Dennis 
and back again to his interrogator. 

“‘Enemies?’” he repeated. “Surely there was no 
violence? I know nothing of Hughes’ personal affairs 
but I should not have fancied he had an active enemy in 
the world!” 


CHAPTER III 


THE NOSE OF DENNIS RIORDAN 

T HERE was a second pause and then the inspector 
asked: “Did he give you any excuse for wanting an 
evening out to-night?” 

“No, none. It was not unusual and I thought nothing 
of it.” Orbit’s hands clenched slightly. “I cannot be¬ 
lieve that poor Hughes is really gone! Perhaps Ching 
Lee made a mistake, perhaps some one else had come into 
possession of Hughes’ key-ring. Will you describe him 
to me, please, and tell me the suspicious circumstances 
you mentioned?” 

“You describe the fellow, Mac; you examined him and 
his clothes more closely than I did.” There was a double 
significance in the inspector’s tone and he added: 
“Special Deputy McCarty happened to be there when this 
man died.” 

Orbit nodded and fixed his eyes expectantly on Mc¬ 
Carty as the latter briefly complied with the inspector’s 
request, without, however, mentioning the letters in the 
hat. When he had finished, Orbit exclaimed: 

“It is he, beyond a doubt! The raincoat and brown 
sack suit were my own, given to him when I tired of them 
myself, and he must have copied my cat’s-eye pin and 
links, although I never saw them. How did he die?” 

“Well, sir, he was hurrying along in the rain and all of 
a sudden he dropped.” McCarty chose his words care- 
28 


THE NOSE OF DENNIS RIORDAN 29 


fully. “When me and a friend of mine got to him he was 
breathing his last and the end came as I lifted his head to 
my knee. . . . How did he happen to be wearing a hat 
with the letters ‘B. P.’ in it, Mr. Orbit? Who is B. P. ?” 

Orbit frowned again thoughtfully. 

“I cannot at the moment recall any one with those 
initials but naturally I have no knowledge of his friends or 
associates/’ he replied at last. “Surely that is immaterial, 
however. What was suspicious about the poor fellow’s 
death ? He was an irreproachable servant but when his 
time was his own his habits were irregular and I should 
not have been surprised to learn that his heart had failed' 
or he had suffered a stroke.” 

“Had he been drinking the last time you saw him; this 
evening, I think you said?” McCarty asked. 

“Certainly not! I have never seen him under the in¬ 
fluence of alcohol or he would not have remained an hour 
in my service. He was fully aware of this, and although 
I am convinced that he occasionally drank to excess he was 
careful never to let me see him in such a condition. Had 
he been drinking when you went to his assistance?” 

McCarty ignored the question. 

“You don’t ask where that was, I notice. Have you 
any notion where he could have been going to-night?” 

“Not the slightest,” Orbit shrugged. “I have told you 
that I am quite ignorant of his private affairs and have 
had no interest in them.” 

“Still, he’d been your personal servant for a matter of 
twenty-odd years,” McCarty insisted. “Wouldn’t you 
want to know what he was up to if you learned he’d left 
your house to go down along the waterfront, in one of the 
toughest districts in the city?” 

Orbit stared in genuine amazement. 


30 


ANNIHILATION 


“ ‘The waterfront ?’ ” he repeated. “I cannot imagine 
what he could have been doing in such a district as you 
describe! Even in his dissipations Hughes was never 
attracted by anything sordid, to my knowledge, but aped 
even the vices of men of a higher station than he.” 

‘T was coming to that,” McCarty remarked. “You 
spoke awhile back of trouble he’d got into more than once; 
what sort of trouble ?” 

“Gambling debts and indiscreet affairs with women; 
upper servants like himself or the wives of upper servants. 
When monetary settlements were in order he came to me 
for an advance on his salary and that is how I learned of 
his difficulties.” Orbit paused and then added reflect¬ 
ively: “He has been in none of late, however; at least, 
none which required assistance from me.” 

“About what hour to-night was the last time you saw 
him alive ?” 

“At a little before seven, when he laid out these clothes 
for me.” Orbit motioned to his attire. “Some guests 
were dining with me—three gentlemen, all near neighbors 
—and I was preoccupied but Hughes’ appearance and 
manner must have been quite as usual or I would have 
noted a change. My guests are still here.” 

He paused significantly and McCarty replied directly 
to the hint. 

“We’re sorry to keep you from them but we’ve got to 
know what your man was doing down in that neighbor¬ 
hood. You don’t know his own friends maybe, but you 
might know which of the servants employed by your 
neighbors he’s been most friendly with, and if you don’t 
maybe your neighbors themselves would know.” 

“Really, is it as important as that?” There was still no 
trace of annoyance in Orbit’s voice or manner but merely 


THE NOSE OF DENNIS RIORDAN 31 


a dignified protest. “You can understand that any 
notoriety in connection with the death of my unfortunate 
valet would be highly distasteful to me, and to have my 
friends subjected to it would be doubly so. My guests 
this evening are Mr. Gardner Sloane and his son, Mr. 
Brinsley Sloane, Second, who live across the street at 
Number Five, and Mr. Eustace Goddard, from Number 
Two, the comer house next door to me here. I have no 
idea whether or not Hughes was even acquainted with 
any of the servants in either the Sloane or Goddard house¬ 
holds, but I will inquire.” 

He rose and left the room, and the inspector turned to 
McCarty. 

“Is all this necessary, Mac ? I know I said this looked 
big but that was when I thought the man dead down there 
near the river was the millionaire Parsons. If it’s just a 
dissipated valet we can let it slide, at least unless the 
autopsy discloses foul play of some sort.” 

“When you asked me if I’d seen more in this than you, 
inspector, I told you I’d seen the corpse,” McCarty re¬ 
minded him quietly. “Now you’re asking me if it’s 
necessary to find out even before the autopsy who this 
fellow Hughes was friendly with and I’ll say it won’t do 
any harm, because I saw him before he was a corpse! 
Heart disease he may have died of, or apoplexy, but it 
may be a good thing for us to know what brought it on 
him so sudden to-night, even if he was just a valet!” 

There was no mistaking the earnestness in his tones 
and the inspector started to speak, but once more he was 
forestalled by the opening of the door, and Orbit ushered 
in three men. The first was slightly younger than his 
host, stout and bald except for a fringe of sandy hair. 
His mouth beneath the small, reddish mustache had a 


32 


ANNIHILATION 


humorous quirk at the corners which appeared to be 
habitual, his blue eyes twinkled and he regarded the police 
official and his two deputies with a frank and not un¬ 
friendly curiosity. 

The second man was approximately the same age but 
his smooth-shaven face was strikingly handsome and his 
youthfully cut dinner coat was worn with a jauntiness 
which proclaimed the middle-aged gallant. 

The last of Mr. Orbit’s guests to enter was a tall, thin 
man of about thirty, whose inordinately serious expres¬ 
sion was enhanced by the shell-rimmed glasses which be¬ 
strode the bridge of his nose. His chin was cleft, like that 
of the man who had immediately preceded him and there 
was an unmistakable family resemblance between them. 
Even before the introduction McCarty placed him as 
Brinsley Sloane, Second, the older man as his father, 
Gardner Sloane, and the first to enter, therefore, as the 
next-door neighbor, Eustace Goddard. 

It was Goddard who spoke first. 

“Too bad about poor Hughes, inspector. Very hard 
on Mr. Orbit, I must say. I’ve seen Hughes about the 
house here for years, of course, but I don’t think I’ve 
exchanged half a dozen words with him in my life and 
I’m quite sure none of the servants in my household know 
anything more about him than I do.” 

“Why, Mr. Goddard ?” asked the inspector. 

“Well, for one thing, they’re all elderly and staid—been 
with my family for years. Mr. Orbit happened to men¬ 
tion the fact just now that Hughes was given to dissipa¬ 
tion occasionally. He wouldn’t have found anything in 
common with our staff, but you are welcome to question 
them to-morrow as much as you please.” 

“Thank you.” The inspector turned to the elder of the 


THE NOSE OF DENNIS RIORDAN 33 


two remaining guests. “Mr. Sloane, have you happened 
to notice any acquaintanceship between Mr. Orbit’s valet 
and your servants ?” 

There was a slight touch of sarcasm in his voice and the 
flush which mounted to Goddard’s scant red hair showed 
that the shot had gone home. Gardner Sloane responded 
with a hearty assumption of cordiality: 

“Can’t say that I have, inspector. We are a household 
of men, for my son and I are alone with my father, who 
is very old and an invalid. His male nurse, a Swede who 
speaks little English^ and John Platt the butler who is 
nearly seventy, are the only servants in our employ with 
whom there is any likelihood that Hughes might have 
come in contact. However, I have observed him on sev¬ 
eral occasions in the company of a butler in service in 
another house on this block and although I find it very 
distasteful to direct even the most casual of official in¬ 
quiries to an establishment presided over by an unprotected 
lady—” 

“Father!” the young man interrupted in precise, 
shocked tones. “I am astonished—!” 

“You usually are, Brin,” interrupted the elder in his 
turn. “It is my duty to tell these officers what I have 
seen. The only servant here in the Mall I have ever 
noticed in Hughes’ company is Snape, Mrs. Bellamy’s 
butler; if any of them knows anything about the fellow’s 
private affairs, it should be he.” 

“Which is Mrs. Bellamy’s house?” the inspector in¬ 
quired. 

“Number Six, next door to this on the east,” the 
younger Sloane replied hastily. “I am sure, however, 
that my father must be mistaken, and if you annoy Mrs. 
Bellamy at such an hour as this merely for below-stairs 


34 


ANNIHILATION 


gossip, you will distress her greatly. Indeed, why should 
any of us be interrogated? The man Hughes dropped 
dead in the street, I understand; it means nothing to any 
one except Mr. Orbit, who has lost an efficient servant!” 

Again the inspector sent a hurried glance at McCarty, 
who ignored the indignant young man and turned to the 
master of the house. 

“Mr. Orbit, have you any notion what relations Hughes 
had ?” 

“None, in this country. He was the son of a black¬ 
smith in Cornwall who went to London when a lad and 
took service as a bootboy. From this he rose to the posi¬ 
tion of valet and when he came to me he was, as Mr. 
Sloanehas observed, a most efficient one.” 

“Then,” McCarty spoke musingly, as though to him¬ 
self, “there’ll be no one to notify about the funeral ar¬ 
rangements.” 

“I shall assume all responsibility, of course,” Orbit an¬ 
nounced. “I will arrange with an undertaking establish¬ 
ment to send for the body at once. It has been removed 
to the morgue?” 

McCarty nodded. 

“To-morrow’ll do, sir; there’ll have to be some formali¬ 
ties, permits and such. The inspector will let you 
know.” 

McCarty and his companions had remained standing 
since the re-entrance of Orbit with his guests and now he 
signaled with lifted eyebrows to his former superior and 
nodded almost imperceptibly toward the door. Inspector 
Druet nodded in response and turned to the four men col¬ 
lectively. 

“We won’t trouble you any further, and if we can 
obtain the information we want elsewhere it will not 


THE NOSE OF DENNIS RIOKDAN 35 


be necessary to question the servants of any one living 
here in the Mall. Goodnight.” 

The Chinese butler was waiting to show them out but 
McCarty lingered for a moment after the others had pre¬ 
ceded him. 

“You’re the butler here?” 

The other bowed in silent affirmation and McCarty went 
on: 

“How many other servants are employed here and what 
are their names ?” 

“Andre the chef, Jean the houseman and little Fu Moy 
the coffee boy. That is all except Hughes.” The reply 
came without a pause in the falsetto singsong monotone. 

“Hughes is dead,” McCarty said abruptly. 

Again the Chinese bowed and when he raised his head 
his expression had not changed an iota. 

After vainly waiting for some remark in response, Mc¬ 
Carty asked: 

“You were all in to-night? Did any one leave this 
house since afternoon except Hughes ?” 

“No one.” 

There was a suggestion of finality in the oddly chanting 
tones now and the discomfited questioner shrugged and 
rejoined the inspector and Dennis who were waiting on 
the sidewalk before the many-turreted house next door. 
All the lights had been extinguished except one on the top 
floor which gleamed down upon them like a single wake¬ 
ful eye. 

“What were you getting out of that Chink?” Dennis de¬ 
manded as they started toward the eastern gate where the 
watchman waited. 

“Not a living thing that I wanted except a list of the 
other servants of the household and word that none of 


36 


ANNIHILATION 


them but Hughes had left the doors this night,” McCarty 
responded disgustedly. “What he got out of me was my 
goat! I sprung it on him quick that Hughes had croaked 
and he never turned a hair nor uttered a word but just 
waited politely for me to go along about my business!” 

“It is conceivable that Orbit told him when he went to 
bring his guests/’ the inspector observed dryly. 

“Did he strike you as being the sort that would stop 
then to talk to one of the servants? He didn’t me,” Mc¬ 
Carty averred. “He may tell this Ching Lee, as he 
called him, after his three neighbors go, but it’ll be only 
so that he can break the news to the others before the 
morning papers come out. Twenty-two years this Hughes 
has been with him and Orbit knew no more about his af¬ 
fairs than the day he hired him! ’Tis unnatural that 
never once in all that time did they talk together as man 
to man and yet I don’t think Orbit lied, at that. Look at 
the way he treated us! He was polite and friendly 
enough and never once could you have laid your finger on 
a word or a look from him that was haughty or arrogant 
like the most of them act over here when the police get 
snooping around, and yet didn’t you kind of feel as though 
you were talking to a Royal Duke at the least ? It’s the 
grand manner of him, that he don’t even know he’s got.” 

“A fine gentleman, Mr. Orbit,” Dennis agreed. “We’ve 
found out nothing, though, about what Hughes was doing 
down in Mike Taggart’s precinct nor why he ran like 
that till he dropped, and likely we’ll not find it here be¬ 
tween these two gates.” 

“There’s something more than that on your mind, 
Mac!” the inspector declared shrewdly. “You’d never 
have insisted on questioning Orbit’s friends if you hadn’t 
some idea of what caused Hughes’ seizure, and that it led 


THE NOSE OF DENNIS RIORDAN 37 


back here! What did you see before he died that you’re 
keeping to yourself?” 

‘Tell you to-morrow, inspector, if you’ll drop in when 
you’ve nothing better to do, or ’phone Denny and me the 
word to come downtown to you,” replied McCarty hur¬ 
riedly in a lowered tone for they had almost reached the 
gate and the watchman was advancing to meet them. 
“Denny’s off duty and I’m taking him home with me the 
night, though I misdoubt he’ll keep me up till dawn with 
his wild theories as to what desperate crime took Hughes 
down to the waterfront! Thanks be, the rain has stopped 
and he’ll not be wanting to ride home in state!” 

But it was McCarty himself who hailed a prowling taxi 
when they had taken leave of the inspector and discreetly 
rounded a corner, and he had no time on the homeward 
way to glance at the meter, being engaged in mollifying 
his outraged companion. 

“Will you never learn, you simpleton, when I’m talking 
about you for the benefit of somebody else ?” he demanded 
in exasperation, when Dennis with bitter resentment had 
spurned his hospitality. “ ’Twas to put off the inspector 
I dropped that hint about being wishful for my sleep or 
he would have trailed along with us to find out what I’d 
got up my sleeve, and well you know ’tis nothing but the 
expression on a dying man’s face and the way he tried to 
speak but couldn’t! He’ll have the laugh on the both of 
us to-morrow if the medical examiner says ’twas ‘natural 
causes,’ and he’ll forget all about this night’s doings, but 
I won’t; I’m going to find out why Hughes ran the breath 
from his body and what it was he tried so hard to say.” 

“Some day,” Dennis began darkly, but with a tell-tale 
softening in his tones, “some day you’ll broadcast through 
me once too often and this radio station will shut down on 


38 


ANNIHILATION 


you! The inspector was right, though; I can see that 
now. Whatever made Hughes throw that fit, you think 
it happened back in that society fire line or you’d not have 
listened to the fat, bald little man, nor yet the old he-gos- 
sip and his son. I misdoubt but some night we’ll be put¬ 
ting a scaling ladder against that iron fence and chloro¬ 
forming the watchman, so you can put that butler next 
door through the third degree!” 

Back in McCarty’s rooms once more Dennis dried his 
rain-soaked boots comfortably before the little coal fire in 
the grate and watched with a quizzical light in his eyes 
while his host stowed his newly acquired library carefully 
away in a closet and then proceeded to clear out the ac¬ 
cumulated litter of several days’ bachelor housekeeping, 
but he said no word until the task was accomplished. 
Then he observed: 

"When you’re working on a case, Mac, you use your 
head, and the eyes and ears of you, but to-night another of 
your senses was asleep at the switch. Not that it had 
anything to do with Hughes, of course, but no more did 
anything else we learned except his name! You over¬ 
looked one little bet.” 

"Oh, I did, did I!” McCarty retorted, stung but wary. 
"And what sense of mine was it that was not working?” 

"Smell.” The reply was succinct. "Unless you’re 
holding out on me, your nose was not on the job.” 

McCarty stared. 

"What was there to smell?” he demanded. "Since 
when is your nose keener than mine?” 

" ’Tis keen for one thing it’s been trained to for many 
a year, and that’s fire. Mac, there’s been a fire in Orbit’s 
house, and not more than a few hours before we got 
there!” 


THE NOSE OF DENNIS RIORDAN 39 


“A fire, is it!” McCarty snorted. “There’d likely been 
one in the kitchen, since dinner was cooked there, and you 
saw the log burning on the hearth in the library—!” 

“Stoves and hearths don’t burn wool and silk and car¬ 
pets and varnished wood, my lad!” Dennis laid his pipe 
on the mantel and rose. “It could only have been a small 
bit of a fire, for the smoke of it had cleared away en¬ 
tirely, but the smell hadn’t; there was enough of that hang¬ 
ing in the air for me to get the whiff, anyway, even though 
nobody else could. I’ve not the gift to explain it right, 
but there’s a different smell to everything that’s inflam¬ 
mable, if you’ve the nose for it, and it was house furnish¬ 
ings had been burned this night!” 


CHAPTER IV 


THE INSPECTOR BRINGS NEWS 

HPHE twain slept late the next morning, and they had 
only just returned from the little restaurant around 
the corner, where McCarty habitually took his meals, 
when the bell jangled on its loose wire from below. 

“Don’t disturb yourself, Mac,” Dennis admonished 
with a grin, as his host threw down his newspaper. “I’ll 
let the inspector in.” 

“And why are you so sure—!” 

“ ’Twas not in my honor you cleaned house last night, 
but because you knew the inspector would be here, and 
you did it then for you were sure he’d come so early 
there’d be no time this morning.” Dennis emitted one of 
his rare chuckles as he pressed the button which released 
the lock on the entrance door. “Since I’ve been associat¬ 
ing so much with detectives, active and retired, I’m getting 
to work their way, myself!” 

“It’s too clever you’re growing, by half!” McCarty 
grumbled, but there was a twinkle in his eye as he strode 
past the other and opening the door, leaned over the banis¬ 
ters. In a passable imitation of the inspector’s own 
amusedly satisfied tones of the night before he called 
down: “There you are, sir! We’ve been waiting for 
you.” 

“The devil you have!” Inspector Druet laughed as he 
bounded up the stairs with a lightness which belied his 
40 


THE INSPECTOR BRINGS NEWS 41 


gray hair. “Getting back at me for last night, eh? If 
you hadn’t held out on me we’d have been on the job still 
in the New Queen’s Mall!—’Morning, Riordan! I sup¬ 
pose you’re crowing over me, too!” 

“There’ll not be a peep out of me, let alone a crow, till 
I know what’s doing, inspector, for Mac’s told me nothing 
except the look he saw on Hughes’ face,’’ Dennis replied, 
as he drew forward the shabby easy-chair and placed an 
ash-tray within reach. His homely, long face was set in 
lines of deep seriousness once more and the inspector’s, 
too, had sobered. 

McCarty closed the door and taking a box of cigars 
from the mantel he held it out to the visitor. 

“The autopsy’ll be over, I’m thinking.” He spoke 
carelessly enough but his breath labored with suppressed 
excitement. “What kind of poison was it, inspector?” 

The inspector nodded slowly. 

“I thought you had guessed! It was physostigmine, 
the medical examiner called it; powdered Calabar bean. 
It’s colorless, has no taste, and a single grain would be 
fatal in three hours or a little longer, but Hughes had 
taken a trifle more than a grain.” 

“Holy saints!” gasped Dennis, “So ’twas murder, 
after all!” 

An expression of honest gratification had stolen over 
McCarty’s face but he shook his head. 

“Many kinds of beans I have heard of, including 
the Mexican ones that jump like a frog, but never the 
sort that bring death,” he said. “If one grain of it would 
kill in three or four hours, a little more would kill in 
two or maybe three, I suppose. It was around nine 
o’clock when Hughes fell there across from the station- 
house, so he must have taken that powdered bean before 


42 


ANNIHILATION 


he left the Orbit house or right after, though we’ve not 
yet fixed the time he did leave. I wonder what would 
be the symptoms of that poison?” 

“I asked the medical examiner,” the inspector re¬ 
sponded. “Pain in the abdomen, nausea, then spasmodic 
respiration, numbness, and a complete paralysis of respira¬ 
tion, which of course would mean death. It doesn’t 
explain his staggering along so that Terry thought he 
was drunk—” 

He paused and McCarty lighted his own cigar and 
drew contemplatively upon it before he spoke. 

“Maybe it would. The pain had passed and the nausea, 
but it had left him weak and the paralysis was creeping 
over the lungs of him so that he was fighting like mad 
for breath, reeling and stopping and lurching forward 
again. He was choking and gasping when Terry and me 
first turned him over and he died with a heave and a 
snort as if a ton weight had landed on the chest of him. 
It was agony that I saw in his face and the horror of 
knowing he’d been poisoned; he knew who did it, too, 
or I miss my guess, for ’twas that he was trying to tell 
when the end came!” 

“What else did you see?” The inspector’s tone held an 
unwonted note of asperity. “I want to know everything 
that happened, Mac, from the first minute you laid eyes 
on the fellow! If you had told me last night before the 
watchman opened the gates we might have saved precious 
time!” 

“I’d nothing to tell but the look on Hughes’ face and 
him trying so hard to speak, and that I thought maybe 
he’d been running like that because he was delirious from 
pain and not in liquor. There was no mark on him when 
we carried him into the station-house, at least none that 


THE INSPECTOR BRINGS NEWS 43 


showed, and it come to me it must be poison. But with 
nothing more to go on than just my own private suspi¬ 
cions, I didn’t want to air them unless the autopsy proved 
there was grounds for them. I’ll be reminding you, in¬ 
spector, that I’ve resigned from the Force long since and 
the new methods—” 

“New methods be damned!” exploded the inspector. 
“You’ve said that about every case we’ve worked out 
together since you did resign, but you’ve come back long 
enough each time to find out the truth when no one else 
could. I told Orbit last night that you were a special 
deputy of mine, and by the Lord you are from now on, 
till we’ve found out who killed Hughes.” 

“Yes, sir,” McCarty said meekly, avoiding Dennis’ eye, 
but the latter had an immediate difficulty of his own on 
his mind. 

“If Hughes took that poison, or ’tw'as give to him, 
either before or just after he left the house, ’twill be on 
that block between those two locked gates that Mac will 
be looking first for clues, and they’re guarded night and 
day; you heard what that watchman said,” he remarked 
wistfully. “You’ll be getting a pass for Mac, likely, but 
unless a fire starts inside big enough for a general alarm 
there’ll be no chance of me following him, inspector, and 
’twill be the first case ever he tackled since he left the 
Force that I didn’t get in on with him from start to 
finish, every minute I w'as off duty.” 

“Don’t worry, Riordan,” Inspector Druet smiled. 
“I’ve never been able to figure out which of you two has 
the luck, but your teamwork can’t be beaten and I’ll see 
that you get a pass along with Mac. I’ve had a diagram 
of the New Queen’s Mall prepared and brought this 
copy with me for you two so you may know without 


44 ANNIHILATION 

loss of time who owns each house and which ones are 
occupied.” 

He produced a folded paper on which the street had 
been roughly mapped out, with spaces, in which names 
and numbers had been written, blocked off from it on 
either side. The two bent their heads over it eagerly. 

“You see there, Denny?” McCarty pointed with his 
forefinger. “Looking from the Avenue, the opposite gate 
to that we went into last night, the corner house, Number 
Two, on the south side belongs to the Goddards. That’ll 
be the stout, bald fellow with the little red mustache and 
the twinkle in his eye, you mind him? Next to it, but 
separated by that bulge that looks like a conservatory, is 
Number Four, Orbit’s house; then comes Mrs. Bel¬ 
lamy’s, Number Six, where that butler Snape works and 
after that, Eight and Ten, but they’re marked ‘closed.’ ” 

“The Falkinghams, Number Eight, have lived abroad 
for more than twenty years and the sole heiress to Num¬ 
ber Ten is Georgianna Davenant, a little girl of twelve 
away at school,” the inspector interposed. “That finishes 
the Mall on the south side, but starting at the western 
end again, a great house taking up the entire space op¬ 
posite both Goddard’s and Orbit’s and bearing two num¬ 
bers, ‘one’ and ‘three’ is occupied by the Burminster 
family, who originally owned most of the block and were 
the moving spirits in having it enclosed with gates. Num¬ 
ber Five is the Sloanes’; you met two of the three 
generations last night—” 

“That’ll be the handsome, middle-aged flirt and the 
son who cut him out with Mrs. Bellamy,” McCarty ob¬ 
served. 

“How in the world—?” Dennis’ lantern jaw hung re¬ 
laxed and the inspector glanced up quickly. 


THE INSPECTOR BRINGS NEWS 45 


“ ’Twas as plain as the nose on your face!’’ McCarty 
exclaimed impatiently. “Let’s go on: Number Seven, 
next to the Sloanes’, is the Parsons’. That’s where this 
Benjamin Parsons lives, who you thought owned the hat 
Hughes was wearing, isn’t it, sir?” 

“Yes. That hat is still a factor in the case, don’t 
forget that!” The inspector bent again over the diagram 
and indicated the final space. “This house, the end of the 
Mall on the north, belongs to the Quentin family, and 
two branches of it are fighting over the property; it’s been 
unoccupied and in litigation for some years. I’m going to 
call at Mrs. Bellamy’s now and interview her butler; want 
to come along?” 

Dennis rose precipitately and stretched a long arm to 
the mantel for his hat, but McCarty said with quick 
decision: 

“We’ll go through the gates with you, sir, so that you 
can square us with the day watchman, but I think we’d 
best prowl around for awhile and not interfere with 
you. We might drop in at the Orbit house later to see 
if any of the other servants can talk a bit more than 
Ching Lee.” 

“If you do, be sure not to mention the autopsy, nor 
the fact that it is even suspected Hughes’ death wasn’t a 
natural one,” warned the inspector as they passed out to 
the stairs. “I’ll probably meet you there later.” 

They entered the Mall by way of the western gate this 
time and the private watchman on duty now proved to be 
younger and less obviously impressed by the dignity of his 
office than the one encountered the night before. He had 
evidently been apprised of their possible coming and 
readily assented to the inspector’s demand that his two 
deputies be admitted in future without question. When 


46 


ANNIHILATION 


the official himself had proceeded to the Bellamy house 
McCarty turned with an affable smile to the watchman 
and tendered a cigar. 

“Have a smoke?” 

“Thanks, but Til have to keep it till later.” He was 
a tall, muscular young giant with a good-natured, not 
too intelligent countenance and he grinned in an em¬ 
barrassed fashion at the overture. Then the grin faded 
and he added in low tones: “They haven’t brought Alfred 
Hughes’ body back yet; I’ve been watching for it all 
morning.” 

“It isn’t going to be brought here; didn’t you 
know?” McCarty’s own tones were invitingly confi¬ 
dential. “Mr. Orbit told Denny and me last night that 
he was arranging to have it taken to some undertak¬ 
ing establishment and buried from there. Didn’t he, 
Denny ?” 

Not yet sure of his ground, Dennis contributed merely 
a nod of affirmation to the conversation and after a dis¬ 
gusted look at him McCarty asked: 

“What’s your name?” 

“Bill—I mean ‘William’ Jennings.” The watchman 
replied promptly. 

“Well, Bill, you’ve got a pretty soft job here, haven’t ' 
you? If you’re going to patrol your beat to the other 
gate Denny and me will stroll along with you. That’s all 
you have to do, isn’t it, except to give the eye to the 
pretty nurse-girls of all the kids on the block?” 

Bill Jennings reddened sheepishly. 

“The better the neighborhood the less kids there are 
in it, did you ever notice that?” he countered. “In all 
six of the families living on this block there are only 
three children: the Goddards’ boy, Horace, who is four- 


THE INSPECTOR BRINGS NEWS 47 


teen; Daphne Burminster, two years younger—she 
belongs in that great corner house over there but they 
haven't come back yet from the country—and little 
Maudie Bellamy. Horace is kind of sickly and has a 
private teacher—they call him a ‘tutor’—and Miss Daphne 
has a maid and a governess, both of them old and sour. 
The Bellamy baby has the only nurse on the block and 
she's foreign—French, I guess." 

“Some of those French girls are beauties." McCarty 
spoke with the air of a connoisseur and Dennis coughed. 
The former added hastily: “Is this one a looker?" 

“Pretty as a picture and as nice as she’s pretty!” There 
was immense respect as well as admiration in Bill’s voice. 
“I guess she ain’t been over long, for she’s awful young 
and shy but she knows how to take care of herself, as 
Alfred Hughes found out." 

He checked himself suddenly but McCarty chuckled 
with careless amusement. 

“He was a great hand with the women, they tell me!’’ 
he commented. 

“Not her kind! Lucette—even her name’s pretty, ain’t 
it?—Lucette is polite to everybody but Alfred Hughes 
didn’t understand that and thought he’d made a hit, I 
guess. One night real late about a month ago—Dave 
Hollis, the night watchman told me about it—Lucette 
ran out to the drugstore for some medicine for little 
Maudie, who’d been took sick awful sudden, and when 
she came back Alfred Hughes met her right in front 
of her own house. He must have tried to put his arm 
around her or something for she gave a little cry and 
Dave, who’d waited to fasten the gate again after letting 
her in, came hurrying up just as Alfred Hughes said 
something in a low kind of a voice and she slapped his 


48 


ANNIHILATION 


face! Then she ran into the house sobbing to herself 
and Dave says he gave Alfred Hughes hell—the big stiff!” 
Bill checked himself again and added in renewed em¬ 
barrassment. “I didn’t mean to speak ill of the dead, 
but I guess nobody on the block had much use for him, 
except Mrs. Bellamy’s butler, Snape; the two of them 
have been thick as thieves for years.” 

“Is that so?” McCarty turned deliberately to his self- 
effacing colleague. “Didn’t somebody say as much to 
you, Denny?” 

“That Hughes and this Snape were friendly? Sure!” 
Emboldened by having found his voice Dennis added 
guilelessly: “ ’Twas that Chink butler at Orbit’s told me, 
I’m thinking. Nice, sociable fellow, if he does wear a 
pigtail; didn’t you find him so, Mac ?” 

“I found he’d more brains than most of the galoots who 
come over here and land in the fire department!” Mc¬ 
Carty retorted with withering emphasis, then turned to 
the watchman again. “What sort of a guy is this Snape— 
the same kind as Hughes?” 

“Underneath, maybe, but you’d never think it to look 
at him. He’s younger by ten years at least than Hughes, 
slim and dark and minds his own business. If it wasn’t 
for the gates you’d never know when he went in or 
out.” 

McCarty darted a quick, sidelong glance at his in¬ 
formant. 

“Keeps funny hours, does he ?” 

“Late ones.” Bill grinned again. “I guess Mrs. Bell¬ 
amy doesn’t know it, but being the only man in her house 
he has it all his own way. He ain’t any too anxious to 
have his doings known, though, for Dave says he’s tried 
more than once to slip in with the milk! I ain't spoke 


THE INSPECTOR BRINGS NEWS 49 


ten words to him and I’ve held down this job over a 
year. Here comes Horace Goddard now!” 

The trio had strolled past the closed houses which 
flanked that of Mrs. Bellamy and were nearing the eastern 
gate. As Bill hurried forward, McCarty glanced through 
the high iron bars of the fence and saw a slender, under¬ 
sized boy, with very red hair and a pale, delicate face, who 
approached with a droop of his narrow shoulders and 
a dragging step. At sight of Bill Jennings opening the 
gate, however, he quickened his pace, a smile lifting the 
corners of the sensitive mouth. 

“Hello, Bill!’’ His voice was still a clear, almost 
childish treble. 

“Hello, there, buddy! What’s the good word?” the 
watchman returned cheerily. 

“It isn’t very good, not for me!” The boy’s face 
clouded once more. “Mr. Blaisdell is going away on a 
sketching tour for October. I—I wish I could go with 
him! He’d take me but Dad won’t hear of it!” 

The two listeners who had remained a little apart, saw 
now that he carried a small leather portfolio and a sketch 
book. 

“An artist, the lad is!” Dennis exclaimed beneath his 
breath. “It’s out playing baseball he should be, and get¬ 
ting into a good healthy fight now and then. Look at the 
hollow chest and spindly legs of him,!” 

“Poor little cuss!” McCarty murmured as Horace God¬ 
dard with a parting word to the watchman passed them 
with a mere glance of well-bred inquiry. “Say, Bill, 
what’s that family doing to the kid ? Making him learn 
to paint ?” 

The watchman had strolled up to them once more and 
at the question his grin broadened. 


50 


ANNIHILATION 


“Make him? They can’t keep him away from it! 
We’re great buddies, him and me, and he’s a lonesome 
kind of a little feller and talks to me every chance he 
gets. You heard what he said? This Blaisdell guy is 
one of the greatest painters in the country and he met the 
kid at Mr. Orbit’s house one day and took a fancy to 
him. He let Horace come to his studio and watch him 
work, it seems, and Horace began trying to copy him 
and now he’s giving him regular lessons. Going to stroll 
back? I take the other side of the street.” 

“No, we’ll be looking in to see what arrangements Mr. 
Orbit has made for the funeral.” McCarty touched 
Dennis’ sleeve. “So long.” 

“See you later.” Bill nodded and turned to cross to 
the opposite sidewalk and his erstwhile companions started 
back the way they had come. 

“A lot you got out of him!” Dennis remarked. 

“I got what I was looking for, dope on some of the 
families and their servants,” replied McCarty. “I didn’t 
want to crowd him too much at the first go, and besides, 
we’ve no more time to spend on him just now.” 

“Going to tackle that Chink again?” asked the other 
innocently. 

“I’m going to tackle every last mother’s son of them!” 
McCarty set his lips firmly and his step quickened. “I 
want a talk with Orbit, too, before the inspector breaks 
the news.” 

In response to their ring at the bell the door was 
presently opened by a fat little Chinese boy, whose round, 
yellow face was wreathed in smiles. On seeing them he 
bowed straight forward from the waist with both short 
arms spread wide and ushered them into a huge, dim 
room at the left, where their footsteps rang on a bare. 


THE INSPECTOR BRINGS NEWS 51 


mosaic floor of exquisite design and inlay. McCarty 
observed that the whole opposite wall was of glass, curv¬ 
ing out in a swelling arc, like a gigantic bow window. It 
was filled with a mass of strange, vivid flowering plants, 
the like of which neither of the visitors had ever seen 
before, and a delicate, elusive fragrance hung upon the 
super-heated atmosphere. 

On their right, at the back, the pipes of an enormous 
organ reared their slender tubes. Stone settles and 
benches were scattered about, backed by towering masses 
of palms and cacti, but the echoing, high-ceilinged room 
held no other furnishing. 

They seated themselves on the nearest marble bench and 
McCarty, who was commencing to perspire freely, pulled 
out his handkerchief and mopped his forehead. 

“ ’Tis for all the world like that grand undertaker’s 
where the lodge gave Corcoran his funeral!” Dennis had 
spoken in his normal tones but they swiftly sank to a 
hoarse whisper as they reverberated. “God save us, did 
you hear that ? It’s worse than a tunnel!” 

“Wisht! The little heathen is still hanging around.” 
McCarty admonished. “Come here, son.” 

The little boy who had lingered in the doorway smiled 
again and sidled forward silently in his soft embroidered 
slippers. 

“My name Fu Moy,” he announced. 

“Oh, you’re the coffee boy?” McCarty remembered his 
conversation with the butler. 

“Can do!” Fu Moy bobbed his head delightedly at the 
recognition. 

“And is Ching Lee your father?” McCarty disregarded 
the dissimilarity in family names. 

“Ching Lee on-clee.” He labored over the difficult 


52 ANNIHILATION 

word with evident anxiety to make himself understood 

“Uncle, is he?” His questioner paused. “You know 
Hughes ?” 

The round face clouded. 

“Me catchum Mlistler Hughes. Me no like. Mlistler 
Hughes gone away. Me glad.” 

“That,” observed Dennis judiciously, “was straight 
from the shoulder. I couldn’t have put it better myself 
if I’d known the spalpeen!” 

Fu Moy hung his head shyly but McCarty pulled a 
shining new quarter from his pocket and held it out. 

“You catchum some of those nuts with the raisins in¬ 
side for yourself—lichee.—But tell me first why you no 
like Hughes.” 

The small, yellow, claw-like hand closed avidly over the 
coin. 

“When Honorable Gleat Lord come, Mlistler Hughes 
say Fu Moy velly nice boy. When Honorable Lord no 
come, Mlistler Hughes kickee, stlikee, hurtee head, allee 
time say Fu Moy go hellee.” The little slippered foot 
shot out suggestively and he rubbed his ear in realistic 
fashion. 

“The dirty hound, for abusing and cursing a little 
shaver, heathen or no!” Dennis exclaimed. “Who’s the 
honorable lord, youngster? Mr. Orbit?” 

Again Fu Moy nodded and a look of adoration shone 
on the childish face. 

“Can do!” His tone was fervid. “Honorable Lord 
Orblit velley gleat man, allee same Lord High Plince!” 

“So that’s that! We know how he stands with the kid, 
all right,” McCarty interposed as Dennis started to speak 
again. But Fu Moy had evidently struck a congenial 
topic. 


THE INSPECTOR BRINGS NEWS 53 


“Ching Lee catchum, Mlistler Hughes make do.” He 
pulled up the sleeve of his embroidered silk jacket dis¬ 
closing the fresh, livid marks of five thick fingers on his 
plump arm. “Ching Lee gettee knifee, can do!” 

Fu Moy drew his hand across his throat and Dennis 
shuddered. 

“For the love of the saints !” 

“When was this?” McCarty was careful to keep his 
tone indifferent. 

“Yes—yes—!” 

“Yesterday?” 

Fu Moy’s bullet head bobbed. 

“Honorable Lord come takee knifee away from Ching 
Lee, say no can do, p’leecee man would come. He say 
Mlistler Hughes hurtee Fu Moy he go! Mlistler Hughes 
gone. Honorable Lord one piecee gleat man.” He 
looked down at the coin and then up with a sudden 
thought. “Lichee nuts no' can do! Slipples can do! 
Slipples dong Honorable Lord!” 

He had gestured toward his feet and Dennis turned 
puzzled eyes on his companion. 

“Does the youngster mean that he wants to buy a pair 
of slippers for Orbit?” Fu Moy’s expression was suf¬ 
ficient answer, and Dennis suggested: “Sure, he must 
have plenty of slippers, lad?” 

Fu Moy’s head shook decisively. 

“Allee blurn. Bang-bang flier Honorable Lord’s loom. 
Littlee flier, gleat big bang-bang! Slipples ’longside 
chair, all same blurn.” 

“I’ve got him!” McCarty spoke aside in a hurried un¬ 
dertone; to the little boy whose dark, bright, slant eyes 
were fixed upon him as though for approval, he added: 
“Sure, son ! Get your honorable lord a pair of slippers, 


54 


ANNIHILATION 


and if you can find any for a quarter let me know where. 
Now you run and tell him that two of the men who were 
here last night would like to speak to him. Think you 
can make him know what you mean?” 

“Honorable lord—speakee—Mac and me—here?” 
Dennis interpreted unexpectedly. 

The child nodded gravely. 

“Can do. Honorable Lord talkee my talk.” With 
another bow he turned and trotted from the room, and 
Dennis murmured: 

“Could you beat that? Orbit speaks Chinee! That 
kid was talking about the fire last night, but what did he 
mean by ‘bang-bang’ ? Did somebody fire a shot, do you 
suppose ?” 

“They did not!” McCarty replied impatiently. “Some¬ 
thing exploded in Orbit’s room and set fire to a chair and 
the slippers under it, but that’s neither here nor there. 
He’s a bright kid, little Fu Moy, with a gift of the gab 
that I’m wishful his uncle had! Only yesterday this 
Ching Lee tried to murder Hughes for mistreating the 
child, but Orbit stopped him; Fu Moy’s just been told 
that Hughes has gone away, Denny, and he thinks Orbit 
discharged him and worships the boss accordingly. I 
wonder if maybe Ching Lee tried again? I wonder if 
he ever heard of the Calabar bean ?” 


CHAPTER V 


CHING LEE’S ERRAND 

*S/^100D MORNING, gentlemen.” Henry Orbit ap~ 
peared in the doorway and came forward. “Has 
your inspector news for me about the removal of Hughes’ 
body? I have made all the arrangements.” 

There was a weary note in his voice and the pallor of 
fatigue had spread over his strongly marked features, 
but it only added to the distinction of his appearance and 
his eyes seemed if anything more brilliantly alight than on 
the previous evening. A plum-colored house-robe swathed 
the tall, erect figure, but he was immaculately groomed 
and it was only when he had almost reached the visitors 
that they saw he carried under one arm a tiny, wistful¬ 
eyed monkey. 

Dennis gave a start but McCarty replied quietly: 

“The inspector gave us no message about the body, sir, 
but no doubt you’ll hear from him any time now. We’d 
like to fix the exact time Hughes left the house. The 
last you saw of him was a little before seven, I think you 
said. Was that before or after the fire in your room?” 

“Some little time before. I have Vite, here, to thank 
for that.” A faint smile curved Orbit’s mobile lips and 
he stroked the little creature in his arm with a reassuring 
gesture as it whimpered at the mention of its name. “An 
alcohol cigar-lighter was left burning on my desk and in 
his haste to follow me downstairs Vite knocked it over, 
55 


56 


ANNIHILATION 


setting fire to an upholstered chair, but Fu Moy, the cof¬ 
fee boy who admitted you just now, discovered it before 
any further damage was done and summoned Ching 
Lee. Fu Moy was as pleasantly excited about it as any 
small American boy would have been, but he should not 
have annoyed you with his chatter. I suppose it was he 
who told you?” 

“No, sir. I knew it last night,” Dennis remarked. 
“I smelled it.” 

“To be sure \ I could not myself detect it downstairs 
but when I retired the odor drove me to one of the guest 
rooms and although I am an experienced traveler I do 
not sleep well in unaccustomed surroundings; that is why 
you find me still en deshabille at this hour.” He glanced 
down at the house-robe and then added with a touch of 
sadness in his voice. “To be truthful, I could not get 
poor Hughes out of my thoughts. After all, twenty-two 
years is a long time.” 

“It is that, Mr. Orbit. When he laid out your clothes 
and asked for the evening off, did he leave you at once?” 

“Yes. I told him to go and have his dinner; the ser¬ 
vants always dine early when I am entertaining, for their 
meals are prepared separately. That is how the cigar 
lighter happened to be left burning. I can’t tell you what 
time he went out but perhaps Andre or Jean would know, 
or Ching Lee. Andre is the cook; shall I have him sent 
to you here?” 

“If it’s all the same to you we’ll go to the kitchen and 
talk to him.” McCarty glanced at the mass of exotic 
blooms, vividly ablaze where the sun poured in upon them 
through the glass wall. “You’ve some wonderful flowers, 
Mr. Orbit.” 

“The orchids are rather rare; some of them have never 


57 


CHING LEE’S ERRAND 

been known to thrive above the equator before and the 
cacti and palms usually do not grow north of Central 
America. I’m quite proud of them. But come. I will 
show you the way to the pantries and kitchen.” 

McCarty gasped thankfully in the comparatively chill 
atmosphere of the hall after the almost overpowering 
heat of the conservatory and the two followed along a 
narrowed hall toward the rear. Half-open double doors 
at the left past the library revealed a great formal dining¬ 
room and back of the conservatory, on the other side of 
the wall against which the organ had been installed, there 
appeared to be a combined picture gallery and card room, 
for the walls were lined with paintings whose massive 
frames all but touched and green-clothed tables of various 
sizes stood about on the brightly waxed surface of the 
marquetry floor. 

“Ring the bell in the pantry for Fu Moy and he will 
bring you to me if there are any questions you would 
like to ask after you have seen Andre or Jean.” Orbit 
had paused before a door at the end of the hall. “Ching 
Lee is out at present but I shall be glad to give you any 
assistance in my power. Since the inspector attached so 
much importance to it I find that I am curious myself to 
know what errand could have taken Hughes to the quar¬ 
ter of town in which he died.—Beyond the butler’s pantry 
you will find the kitchen pantries, the refrigerating room 
and then the kitchen.” 

“All right, then,” McCarty responded. “The chances 
are that we won’t bother you again before we go.” 

He pushed open the door as Orbit turned, and Dennis 
followed him into the spacious white-tiled room shining 
with glass and porcelain. A door further along in the 
same wall as that by which they had entered evidently 


58 


ANNIHILATION 


opened into the dining-room but McCarty led the way to 
another facing them and they passed down a short cor¬ 
ridor and into a spacious kitchen. 

A fat man immaculate in starched white apron and cap, 
with a round, ruddy face and bristling black mustache 
turned on them belligerently from a long pastry table. 

“What is this, that you come to my kitchen? Sacre 
Nom f If M’sieur Obeet know this—!" 

“Don't let that worry you, Andre! Mr. Orbit just 
showed us the way through the pantry," McCarty inter¬ 
rupted. “We'd like to ask you a few questions about 
Hughes." 

“Mon Dieu! Les gendarmes!” Andre raised his floury 
hands in dismay. 

“What's that you’re calling us?" demanded Dennis 
advancing truculently and the fat chef retreated behind 
the table in haste. 

“ ‘Gendarmes' it is French for Messieurs of the 
Police!” he stammered, his conciliatory tone comically at 
variance with the fierce expression lent to him by the 
bristling mustache. “I know nothing of Hughes, noth¬ 
ing ! He goes out last night upon his own affairs and in 
the morning Ching Lee comes to me and tells me that he 
is dead, he falls in the street with a—a seekness of the 
heart. Is it not so? Alors, why do the police interest 
themselves?" 

“Ching Lee told you that, did he ?" McCarty seated him¬ 
self and Dennis took a chair by the door. “Did you ever 
hear Hughes complain of a weak heart ?" 

“But no! It—it was something else, then, which have 
killed Hughes ?" Andre asked quickly, then checked him¬ 
self with a shrug. “What is it that you would have me 
tell you?" 


CHING LEE S ERRAND 


59 


“How long have you worked for Mr. Orbit ?” 

“It will be seex years next month. I am chef for a 
friend of M’sieu in Paris and when he is kill’ in the war 
M’sieu send for me. When the war it is finish’ M’sieu 
permits that my cousin Jean who was a poilu come also to 
be houseman. Jean and me, we do not concern our¬ 
selves with the affairs of Hughes, we know of him noth- 
ing!” 

“Who comes here to see him, besides Snape, the butler 
from next door?” McCarty asked. 

“No one.” Andre wiped his hands and came slowly 
around the table. “It is not often that we see Snape, for 
he arrive’ in the evening late, and when the dinner is 
finish’ Jean and me, we have our own affairs together.” 

“What time did you and the rest have dinner last 
night?” McCarty dropped the futile line of questioning. 
“It was before you served Mr. Orbit and his company, 
wasn’t it ?” 

“But yes. At seex hours and a half.” The reply 
came promptly, in obvious relief. 

“Did Hughes eat with you?” 

“Of a certainty!” Andre looked his surprise. “Fu 
Moy arrange’ the tables in our dining-room there*—one 
for himself and Ching Lee, who prefers that they eat 
alone together, and the other for us three, but Hughes he 
is late, he attend upon M’sieu. Ching Lee and Fu Moy 
have almost finish’ and Jean and me, we think we will 
wait no longer when at last Hughes he comes.” 

“Did he'tell you he was going out ?” 

“Not until after dinner. Ching Lee have gone to make 
complete the table for M’sieu and his guests and Fu Moy 
to robe himself in the little jaquette of embroidered satin 
that later he may serve coffee and liqueurs. Then Hughes 


60 


ANNIHILATION 


says that he will go for a walk. Jean warns him that it 
will make rain—how you say? A storm, it is coming, 
but Hughes does not care, it is for his health, that he 
walks. Jean and me, we think that is droll for there is 
nothing the matter with the health of Hughes, only that 
he drinks too much and often he is out very late.” Again 
Andre checked himself and then went on hurriedly. “It 
is the last month, perhaps two, that he is not look so well, 
but he is not seek, nevaire. He goes, and—” 

“What time was this?” McCarty interrupted. 

“At a little past seven hours, perhaps half, but me, I am 
engage’ with the dinner of M’sieu, and Jean he cleans our 
dishes; we pay not much attention. Hughes says ‘good 
night’ and goes out the side door here into the allee which 
leads to the tradesmen’s entrance. That is the end of 
Hughes.” 

With a gesture of dismissal he turned to the range and 
tested the heat regulator of the oven, but McCarty re¬ 
mained seated. 

“The fire broke out in Mr. Orbit’s room after Hughes 
left, then?” 

“Yes. You have heard of that?” Andre turned again 
with uplifted brows. “It was nothing, we do not even 
know of it until it is all over. Little Fu Moy, he see the 
smoke and the single tongue of flame and he cry for 
Ching Lee who puts it out. M’sieu, he is downstairs 
awaiting his guests and it is said that the singe —the 
monkey—Vite have upset the cigar lighter, but me, I 
think it is Fu Moy who makes play with the matches! 
He is a bad child, that little Fu Moy!” 

“You say that Hughes has not looked so well lately,” 
McCarty ignored the subject of the coffee boy’s delin¬ 
quencies. “Did he seem worried, like, or as if anything 


CHING LEE S ERRAND 


61 


was on his mind that might have hurt his health, weakened 
his heart, maybe?” 

Andre shrugged once more. 

“He is if anything in the greater spirits and Jean and 
me, we think that he have win at the cards. He looks— 
how do you say ?—dissipate’, and tired because he creeps 
in with the dawn.” 

“Does Mr. Orbit know of this ?” McCarty feigned sur¬ 
prise. “It’s a wonder he’d have kept him.” 

“If he suspects he says nothing, because no matter how 
late Hughes arrive at home he is always up promptly in 
the morning and he drinks only when M’sieu shall not 
know. He is the perfect valet and M’sieu asks no more.” 

“Well, we won’t either, just now.” Dennis had taken 
no part in the inquiry but now as McCarty spoke he 
signaled him an agonized glance and the latter nodded. 

“Andre, when did that fire break out?” Dennis drew 
a deep breath. 

“Last night ? It must have been but a moment or two 
after the departure of Hughes for it is still less than eight 
hours when it is finish, before the three gentlemen arrive.” 

“Before you knew of it, then,—say, a few minutes 
after Hughes left; did you hear anything?” Dennis pur¬ 
sued carefully. “A kind of a bang! it would be, like a 
firecracker going off, if you know what that is.” 

“The red fire toys of Fu Moy which explode when he 
lights them? I know!” Andre responded grimly. Then 
a reflective look came over his round countenance. “It 
appears that I did hear a single, quick noise, like the 
violent closing of a door somewhere above which make 
the house to tremble! Me, I am occupied with the 
Chateaubriand, that it cook not too fast, and I think not 
of it again. But what—” 


62 


ANNIHILATION 


“Nothing. That’s all I wanted to know.” Dennis 
turned to his companion. “Let’s be moving, Mac.” 

He started along the corridor but McCarty stopped him 
at the foot of a narrow, winding staircase. 

“We’ll go up here, Denny, for a minute. I want a look 
around.” 

“No more than I do, myself!” Dennis returned 
promptly. “It’s beginning to come to me that Hughes 
was not over popular around here. I wonder what this 
Jean thought of him ?” 

What Jean thought was speedily ascertained for they 
came upon him in the upper hall, energetically waxing the 
floor; a slim, dark, youngish man with a deep scar across 
his smooth-shaven face and a nervous, jerky manner as 
though every muscle and nerve were strung on wires. 

“It was unfortunate that Hughes should have died so 
suddenly but what would you ? A man so gross, who ate 
like a great pig and drank like a sot and took no care of 
himself,” Jean replied to his own observation with a shrug 
and applied his energies anew to his task. 

“Where were you last evening, Jean, while Fu Moy 
was setting the tables in the servants’ dining-room ?” Mc¬ 
Carty asked, as though in an afterthought. 

“In the kitchen assisting Andre. It is not my work 
but Andre is occupied with the dinner of Monsieur Orbit. 
I arrange first the trays for Fu Moy and he take them to 
the table and then call his uncle, Ching Lee. Andre and 
me, we await Hughes—” 

“So Ching Lee and Fu Moy ate alone in the dining¬ 
room for awhile before Hughes came down, and you and 
him and Andre went in to have your own dinners?” 

“Yes, m’sieu.” Jean had risen from his knees and 
now he regarded his questioner expectantly but for a 


CHING LEE’S ERRAND 63 

moment McCarty seemed lost in thought. Then he 
roused himself. 

“What did you have?” 

“A soup of vegetables, ragout of lamb, a salad and 
cheese and coffee,” Jean responded. “There was rice 
also for Ching Lee and Fu Moy, and pastry from 
Monsieur Orbit’s dSjeuner, which I placed for Hughes 
but he desired it not.” 

“Did he eat as much as usual ?” McCarty asked quickly. 

“Like a glutton at first but he is finished very soon, he 
is satisfied and the remainder of his dinner goes almost 
untouched. Then he goes out for a walk, so he tells to 
Andre and me, in spite of the storm which is coming.” 
Jean’s face twisted in a grimace of knowing incredulity. 
“It takes him not five minutes to change and then he is 
gone.” 

“Did you help Andre dish up the dinner for Mr. Or¬ 
bit and his friends?” 

“I assist him, but it is soon over, for when the guests 
are only gentlemen the menu is very simple though al¬ 
ways of the best. At half past eight dinner is served and 
in an hour it is finished and we are making all clean in the 
kitchen. Some French papers have arrived for us in the 
mail but yesterday and we take them to Andre’s room to 
read; at eleven we go to bed.” 

The man spoke glibly enough, but why without being 
asked had he volunteered a detailed account of how he 
had spent the evening? Did he consider it necessary to 
establish an alibi, and if so, what reason had he? There 
was a frank, open look to him, McCarty thought, and 
anyway there would be no sense in disputing with him 
now; even if he was lying Andre would back up that 
statement of his. 


64 ANNIHILATION 

“Do all of you sleep on the same floor ?” 

Jean nodded. 

“At the top of the house. Shall I show you—?” 

“No, I’ll be taking a look around later, maybe. What 
else is on this floor besides Mr. Orbit’s room?” 

“Monsieur’s suite,” Jean corrected. “He has a private 
sitting-room also, in addition to the bed-room and dress¬ 
ing-room. The rest of this floor and all of the one above 
are arranged in suites for guests.” 

“Does Mr. Orbit have much company staying here in 
the house?” McCarty’s gaze had wandered to the many 
doors on either side of the broad corridor. 

“Not many. Only one or two at a time have I seen 
since I came, and all gentlemen. Never are ladies guests 
of the house although often they dine here or arrive for 
the affairs of society which Monsieur gives.—But I must 
arrange the table now for dejeuner, because Ching Lee 
is out.” 

He gathered up his brushed and started for the back 
stairs but McCarty stopped him. 

“Where did Ching Lee go? Did Orbit send him on an 
errand?” 

“I do not think so.” Jean hesitated. “When Mon¬ 
sieur sends him—which is but seldom, for nearly always 
I go,—he tucks up his queue and arrays himself in Ameri¬ 
can attire, but to-day, as when he goes about his own af¬ 
fairs, he wore the ordinary dress of his country; not 
the magnificent embroidered robes of silk but the plain, 
dark dress one sees upon les Chinois everywhere. It is 
now two hours since he has gone.” 

He turned once more to the stairs and this time Mc¬ 
Carty made no effort to detain him. He waited until the 
houseman’s footsteps had died away in the hall below 


CHING LEE S ERRAND 


65 


and a door had closed. Then he turned to where Dennis 
had been standing just behind him. 

“Get that, Denny? I’m thinking—!” He paused, for 
he was talking to the empty air. Dennis had disappeared. 

With a shrug McCarty mounted to the next floor but no 
one was visible and each of the several doors which he 
opened gave upon bedrooms furnished in different periods 
of the Italian and French monarchical regimes. He only 
knew that they seemed very handsome, if the rugs and 
draperies did look a bit faded and draggled to his eyes 
and the gilt tarnished, but about all there hung the aloof, 
cheerless air of apartments seldom tenanted. 

The floor above was evidently cut up into many smaller 
rooms, for there were more doors closer together. Sev¬ 
eral of them were locked and the first which opened 
readily was that of a large room at the back, furnished 
merely with two chests of drawers and two matting cov¬ 
ered cots heaped with cushions. Matting was laid upon 
the floor, a niche in the wall was hung with rich silk upon 
which a gorgeous dragon was emblazoned and lanterns 
were suspended from the ceiling. McCarty sniffed the 
faintly aromatic odor as of sandalwood which greeted 
him and knew that this must be the room Ching Lee 
shared with Fu Moy. 

Closing the door he retraced his steps and tried an¬ 
other just at the head of the stairs. It opened into a 
room slightly smaller than the first but comfortably fur¬ 
nished in old oak with a bright rug on the floor and simple 
curtains at the two broad windows. Military brushes and 
other masculine toilet accessories were scattered on the 
dresser and a rack which hung beside it glowed with the 
rich, subdued colors of a score or more neckties and 
scarves. Across the foot of the bed lay a lounging robe 


66 


ANNIHILATION 


of heavily quilted brocade but somewhat worn and frayed. 

Was this where one of the Frenchmen slept or—? 
McCarty strode to the closet and flung the door wide. 
Suits of plain black alternated with others of conservative 
shades and material but far more expensive; a glance 
showed that they were much too large for the slender 
houseman, yet not sufficiently capacious to accommodate 
the chef’s rotund girth. 

If this, then, were Hughes’ room could he have left any 
clue behind him which would point to his unknown 
enemy? A hasty examination of the closet revealed an 
empty whiskey bottle among the boots on the floor, but 
the pockets of the various garments contained merely 
small bills and newspaper clippings of racing results. 

In the top drawer of the dresser McCarty came upon 
a stack of letters in different handwriting but all un¬ 
mistakably feminine and sentimental in tone, couched in 
more or less illiterate terms. He took possession of them 
for reading at his leisure. The lower drawers contained 
only clothing and there were no other receptacles in the 
room which might have held papers but his experienced 
eye noted a slight unevenness in the surface of the rug 
near the head of the bed and turning it back he found a 
bank-book and a check-book fastened together with a 
rubber band. 

These he pocketed also and then descended to the first 
bedroom floor where Dennis had deserted him, to dis¬ 
cover that individual hovering uncertainly about the 
stairs’ head. 

“Where the devil did you take yourself off to?” he de¬ 
manded. “If the inspector let you in on this with me 
’twas not to gum up my game, Denny Riordan! More¬ 
over, whenever you go off on your own hook—!” 


CHING LEE’S ERRAND 


67 


“Let be, Mac! The inspector’s here, talking to Orbit 
now in his private sitting-room, they all but caught me 
snooping around in there!” Dennis interrupted. “He’s 
sprung it on him that Hughes was poisoned!” 

“Come on downstairs and tell me what you heard.” 
McCarty led the way without further waste* of words and 
Dennis followed him to the entrance hall below where they 
stationed themselves in the embrasure of a window be¬ 
side the door. 

“Whilst you were asking Jean about the lay-out of the 
rooms upstairs I thought I’d have a look at the ones Orbit 
keeps for himself,” Dennis explained in a slightly defiant 
tone. “He sleeps in a bed with a roof to it, all hung with 
curtains like a hearse. The chair that was burned is 
gone but there’s a scorched place in the rug and the smell 
is hanging on the air yet. I took just a peep in the bath¬ 
room, which is fitted up like a gymnasium and almost as 
big, and then I went on into the sitting-room. ’Tis grand, 
Mac, with books and pictures and flowers everywhere, to 
say nothing of the window boxes just ablaze with 
flowers for all it’s near frost. There’s a piano, too, with 
big sheets of paper covered with hen-tracks on the rack 
as if somebody’d been writing music by hand, and I was 
just looking at it when I heard the inspector’s voice and 
him and Orbit coming along the hall. I ducked back into 
the bedroom and then I stopped for I caught the last word 
the inspector was saying; it was ‘murder!’ ” 

It was an unprecedentedly long speech for the taciturn 
Dennis and as he paused for breath McCarty rubbed his 
chin reflectively. 

“How did Orbit take it?” 

“For a full minute you could have cut the stillness with 
a knife and then he says low and shocked, like: ‘My God, 


68 


ANNIHILATION 


how frightful! You’re sure there’s no possibility of a 
mistake about it, inspector? But your man who wit¬ 
nessed it said nothing last night about foul play! I 
understand that poor Hughes simply dropped in the 
street when no one was near.’ Then the inspector up and 
told him it was poison, giving it that long name ‘physos’- 
something, and Orbit says could it be possible, that he’d 
heard of it, of course, being a bit of a bot—botanist, but 
’twas rare, and how could anybody have got hold of it 
to give to Hughes, and why?” Dennis paused again and 
then added conscientiously: “Maybe them wasn’t just the 
words, Mac, but he was struck all of a heap. I was 
afraid they’d be coming in and catching me so I beat it 
out to the head of the stairs where you found me.— 
Wisht! They’re coming down now!” 

“I’ll be waiting for a word with the inspector,” Mc¬ 
Carty announced hurriedly. “I’ve a job for you, Denny, 
if you’ll not be shooting your mouth off!” 

A door above had opened but it was evident that Orbit 
and his companion had paused, for no sound of footsteps 
ensued and Dennis asked eagerly: 

“What is it, Mac? Well you know I’m not given to 
talk—!” 

“Then listen! Run down to the old waterfront pre¬ 
cinct and see is Mike Taggart or Terry around; tell them 
I stopped by the fire house this morning on the way out 
to my Homevale estates and mentioned the fellow that 
dropped dead down there last night, and you thought from 
my description maybe you knew him. You’re disgusted 
that I took so little interest and it’s your opinion I’m not 
the man I was—” 

“And who says so?” demanded Dennis with loyal in¬ 
dignation. 


CHING LEE’S ERRAND 


69 


‘‘You do, you blockhead!” McCarty retorted. “Let 
them knock me and get all the dope you can about last 
night, and then bring up old times when I walked my 
beat there and you used to come around for a word with 
me and the rest of the boys. Say the neighborhood 
looks about the same to you but you kind of recall seeing 
more Chinks hanging out in the doorways, and wasn’t 
there a laundry or a chop suey joint on the block?” 

“ ’Tis you should know there wasn’t!” Dennis’ tone 
was bewildered but a light suddenly dawned in his gray 
eyes and he added in a sepulchral whisper: “Mac! You 
don’t mean—! You’re thinking—!” 

“I’m wishful to know if there was a strange Chinaman 
in that street this morning; one that was curious, maybe, 
about what happened last night. If there was, his queue 
might have been tucked up or swinging free, but I’ve a 
hunch he’d look like Ching Lee!” 



CHAPTER VI 


DEADLOCK 

ENNIS had scarcely departed on his errand when 
the inspector and Orbit came down the stairs to¬ 
gether and the latter remarked to McCarty: 

“You didn’t tell me Hughes had been poisoned!” 

“No, sir,” McCarty agreed. “ ’Twas not for me to 
say: I told you I’d no message for you about the body 
but you’d hear from the inspector. There’s no chance he 
could have took that Calabar bean powder—I disremem- 
ber its other name,—by mistake, is there? Would it be 
lying around the house here for any purpose?” 

“Hardly!” Orbit smiled. “I have read of its use as a 
cure for lockjaw and an antidote for some other poison 
—strychnine, I believe,— but one would not find it in an 
ordinary, normal household!—You’ll let me know, in¬ 
spector, if I can do anything to further your investiga¬ 
tion?” 

The inspector promised, somewhat superfluously, and 
as they descended the steps he observed to his companion: 

“It’s a damn funny case, Mac! The Bellamy woman’s 
butler is a smooth proposition, but as far as I could make 
out he came clean; he’s been playing the races with 
Hughes in a poolroom down on Thirtieth and gambling 
in a joint over on the East Side, and Hughes was stuck 
on some new Jane named ‘Gertie.’ Snape thinks she’s 
a married woman, though he never saw her nor heard 
70 


DEADLOCK 


71 


her last name, and she doesn’t belong on this block. He 
wasn’t with Hughes last night and didn’t even know he’d 
gone out.” 

“Did you see anybody else in that house?” asked Mc¬ 
Carty. 

“Only a mighty pretty nursemaid going out with a 
baby. Did you have any luck at Orbit’s?” 

“Not much,” McCarty responded guardedly. “I’ll tell 
you later if you’ll drop around to my rooms. I want 
to have another talk with the stout, bald little guy next 
door here, Goddard.” , 

“All right. I think we’re wasting our time, though, 
here in the Mall. If we can trace Hughes’ movements 
from the minute he passed out of that gate there until 
he fell dying in front of you, we’ll nail the fellow who 
slipped him that Calabar bean; there won’t be much to 
this case, Mac.” 

McCarty watched the inspector cross the street to the 
stately old entrance to Number Seven and then pro¬ 
ceeded to the corner house and rang the bell. An elderly 
butler, with the pallor of a long lifetime of indoor ser¬ 
vice admitted him, shaking his head dubiously. It was 
some little time before Eustace Goddard appeared. 

“ Ton my soul, you fellows are persistent!” His blue 
eyes twinkled with lively curiosity as he spoke. “Never 
knew of such a fuss being made over the death of a ser¬ 
vant before! I suppose you’ve come to question mine?” 

“After a bit,” McCarty smiled grimly. “Servant or 
no, we’re bound to make a fuss, as you call it, when it’s a 
case of murder.” 

“What? You don’t say so!” Goddard ran his hand 
over the fringe of sandy hair adorning his bald pate. 
“Devil of a thing for Orbit, the notoriety and all! 


72 


ANNIHILATION 


Can’t see why he kept the fellow; I never did like his 
looks!—But who killed him ?” 

“That’s what we’re asking!” McCarty retorted. “First 
of all we’ve got to fix the time he left the house. Did 
you see him when you went there to dinner last night?” 

“No. It was about quarter past eight and just begin¬ 
ning to rain when I went next door. Ching Lee admitted 
me and I found Orbit in the library; the Sloanes came a 
few minutes later and we four went in to dinner and then 
played a rubber or two of bridge. I’ve never seen Orbit 
in better form; he’s a splendid player but last night his 
game was extraordinary and we had a rattling good time 
until you fellows showed up!” 

“You weren’t playing cards when we got there,” Mc¬ 
Carty suggested. 

“No, we’d finished and gone into the conservatory. 
Orbit was at the organ; you must have heard him.” 
Goddard spoke in short, jerky sentences as though out 
of breath and a deeper flush had mounted in his ruddy 
cheeks. “Don’t pretend to know much about music my¬ 
self but Orbit can make those pipes talk and I never 
heard him play as he did last night! His own composi¬ 
tion, too; he’s a genius!” 

“You’ve known him long?” 

“God bless me, yes! He was my idol when I was a 
little boy and he a big one, home from school for the holi¬ 
days. Then came the university and after that he traveled 
for some years, returning only at his father’s sudden 
death. He brought Hughes back with him then.” 
Goddard checked himself as though recalled all at once to 
a consciousness of his visitor’s identity. “About last 
night, though, I saw none of the servants except Ching 
Lee and Fu Moy.” 


DEADLOCK 


73 


“Have those two been with Orbit a long while ?” 

“Ching Lee has; little Fu Moy only appeared a year 
or so ago. But Orbit himself can tell you—■” 

“You visit in there a lot, don’t you?’’ McCarty inter¬ 
rupted. 

“Naturally, when Mr. Orbit is in residence.” A shade 
of stiffness had manifested itself in the genial, garrulous 
tones. “He frequently closed the house and went away 
for long trips, although not of late years!” 

“Then you must have seen a good deal of Hughes,” per¬ 
sisted the interrogator; 

Goddard shook his head decisively and his small, red¬ 
dish mustache seemed to fairly bristle. 

“As I told you last night I have hardly addressed the 
fellow half a dozen times in my life. He was self-ef¬ 
facing, like any other well-trained servant; you’d scarcely 
know he was there. Then, too, I never had much oc¬ 
casion to see him, for though such old friends Orbit and 
I have not been on an intimate footing; Mrs. Goddard and 
I dine there or I run over for an evening of bridge now 
and then, that’s about the extent of our intercourse.” 

“Oh, Dad!” The clear, treble voice which McCarty 
had already heard sounded from the hall and the red- 
haired, delicate-looking boy appeared in the doorway. 
“Dad, that old Hughes is dead! Now he’ll never be hor¬ 
rid to Max any more when he follows me over to Mr. 
Orbit’s!” 

“Run away, Horace!” Goddard ordered peremptorily. 
“Dad’s busy—!” 

“So Hughes was horrid to Max, was he?” McCarty 
interrupted with the broad, ingratiating smile which al¬ 
ways won juvenile confidence. “And who is Max, my 
lad?” 


74 


ANNIHILATION 


“My police dog. Hughes was afraid of him, and 
that’s why he tried to kick him out. It’s lucky Mr. Or¬ 
bit didn’t see him; he never lets anything be hurt—” 

The boy was replying courteously, in simple friendli¬ 
ness, when his father interrupted: 

“Horace, it’s time you got ready for lunch. Look at 
your hands!” 

“That’s paint, Dad; it won’t come off, but I’ll try 
again.” He nodded, his wistful, sensitive face breaking 
into a smile and then went off down the hall while God¬ 
dard remarked: 

“That boy of mine is crazy to be an artist and he runs 
next door now and then to see Orbit’s paintings. Never 
took much stock in that sort of thing myself. Sorry 
I can’t give you any further information about that 
valet, but I don’t see why you should come to me, any¬ 
way!” 

“Well, you’ve got the finest house on the block, except 
the closed j up one just over the way, and I supposed you’d 
know the folks that live in the others,” McCarty ex¬ 
plained. “Does any of them do anything but clip 
coupons?” 

“We all know each other, of course.” There was a 
softened note of genial patronage in his tone. “I don’t 
know what it can have to do with your investigation but 
we’re none of us what you would probably call the 
‘idle rich.’ I manage several estates for relatives besides 
my own, Burminster over there works harder than any 
of his clerks, looking after his enormous holdings, Gard¬ 
ner Sloane—whom you met last night—is a prominent 
banker, Benjamin Parsons a philanthropist and Mrs. 
Bellamy’s late husband was a broker. Orbit doesn’t go 
in for finance, his money is all soundly invested, and I 


DEADLOCK 


75 


don’t believe he touches half his income, but his contri¬ 
butions to art and science and literature have been almost 
incalculable.” 

“Have they, so!” interjected McCarty, considerably 
impressed. “And are the Burminsters and the Parsons 
friends of Orbit, too?” 

“The Burminsters, yes, but when I said we all knew 
each other here in the Mall I spoke generally. The Par¬ 
sons are comparative strangers to all of us, although they 
have been here for two generations—no, three—Ben¬ 
jamin Parsons’ young niece makes the third. No one 
here between these gates knows them.” 

“What’s wrong with them?” McCarty demanded, add¬ 
ing with a very sober countenance: “Wasn’t there time 
in the two* generations to get acquainted?” 

Goddard shrugged. 

“Not in their estimation, evidently. From the begin¬ 
ning they held themselves aloof and made it plain that 
they wanted no social intercourse with the rest of us here; 
they live in a world of their own and for years none of 
us has tried to 1 invade it. Orbit’s newer than they—his 
father bought that house next door within my memory,— 
but he’s a different sort.” 

“Yet you’re not intimate with him, you tell me. Who 
are his close friends, informal-like? You’d know that, 
being his neighbor.” 

“I know nothing at all about Orbit’s friends, and I 
fail to see what they’d have to do with his valet’s mur¬ 
der!” Goddard flared out. “I’ve been pretty patient with 
you, but this is a confounded impertinence! Why don’t 
you look up the associates of the fellow himself and not 
annoy us with such an affair ? He was killed miles away 
from here in some vile slum, as I understand it; it’s in- 


76 


ANNIHILATION 


sufferable that Orbit’s neighbors should be dragged into 
your investigation!” 

“Well, Fll be annoying you no longer just now,” Mc¬ 
Carty responded equably as he rose. “I’ll just have a 
word with your help to put in my report, though, before 
I go.” 

Neither the butler nor the cook had any information 
of value to offer, however, and the maids employed up¬ 
stairs gave equally valueless testimony. All had known 
Hughes by sight for years and had spoken to him oc¬ 
casionally in casual greeting but it was plain that they had 
not approved of him and were not particularly interested 
in his death. 

“And them living next door to him for twenty years 
and more! ’Tis not in nature!” Dennis exclaimed, an 
hour later, when he and McCarty met by prearrangement 
at a modest East Side lunchroom and the latter dis¬ 
gustedly voiced his opinion of the apathetic Goddard staff. 
“There’s no woman too old to be curious about a neigh¬ 
bor’s sudden death, if it’s only for the gossip of it! You 
didn’t let on ’twas poison got him ?” 

“I did not! I told Goddard himself it was murder but 
he thinks somebody killed Hughes down there in what he 
calls a Vile slum.’ ” McCarty paused to give their order 
to the slatternly waitress and then leaning his elbows on 
the table he asked eagerly: “What did you find out in 
the old precinct? Did you see Mike Taggart or 
Terry?” 

“The both of them!” It was Dennis’ turn to evince 
disgust. “Conceited young pups they are, the day! 
Terry’s clean forgot he put Hughes down as an ordinary 
alcoholic case and Mike that he misread the tag on the 
key-ring, but they were having the laugh on you for see- 


DEADLOCK 


77 


ing a man die of poison under your nose and not getting 
wise! They didn’t laugh much, though, after I began 
asking about the old chop suey joints and Chink laun¬ 
dries!” 

“So you spilled it, after all!” McCarty accused indig¬ 
nantly. “I might have known you would!” 

“I spilled nothing but what I was told,” retorted Den¬ 
nis, with an underlying hint of dogged satisfaction in his 
tone. “ ’Twas not my fault they guessed, dumb as they 
are! They took it all in till I sprung that and even then 
Terry began telling me there was a laundry around the 
corner and a chop suey joint back on the next block but 
Mike broke in and asked me what the hell I was getting 
at; what did I know about the Chink that had been hang¬ 
ing around there not an hour before, and what in blazes 
you were up to now ? Man, dear, ’twould have done your 
heart good to see the faces on them! I said you were 
foreclosing a mortgage out at Homevale, and ’twas them¬ 
selves had spoke of the guy being poisoned, not me, and 
what Chink were they talking about ? There was no fool¬ 
ing them then, though, they were wise, but Terry told 
me about the tall Chinaman with a face like a graven 
image who used good plain English even if he did sing it, 
and I knew it was Ching Lee, all right!” 

“What about him?” McCarty demanded: “If he went 
to the station-house asking about Hughes when ’twas 
not even in the morning papers that the body’d been 
identified ’tis a wonder they didn’t run him in on general 
principles!” 

“Ching Lee is not that foolish!” Dennis lowered the 
knife, upon the end of which he had balanced a section 
of ham. “He told them he’d heard two other Chinks 
in that chop suey joint where he had his breakfast talking 


78 


ANNIHILATION 


about one of their own countrymen who had fallen down 
dead in front of the station house last night, and though 
the proprietor of the restaurant had said it was a white 
man, American, who had died, he had come there to make 
sure, being anxious about his brother.—Seems brother 
was to have met him the night before but didn’t show up, 
or some such stall, and that he had a weak heart. Any¬ 
way, them two bright lads fell for it, told hirrt the guy 
that croaked was white and I misdoubt but they let drop 
a hint that it was more than heart disease killed him. 
’Twas only when I come around with my questions they 
began to see that maybe they’d pulled a bloomer.—Where 
the devil and all is our coffee ?” 

The coffee appeared and when they had finished it Mc¬ 
Carty asked: 

“What did you do then? You’ve not been all this long 
while kidding the boys at the house!” 

“I have not,” Dennis admitted with some complacency. 
“I left them looking like they’d got a comic valentine, 
and having time yet on my hands before I was to meet you 
I took a roundabout way to that chop suey joint, got a 
table hid behind the proprietor’s desk and ordered some 
heathenish mess. The proprietor’s a jolly, fat old Chink 
and I was trying to think up some way of bringing Ching 
Lee into our talk when who should come strolling in but 
Terry in plain clothes! He was off duty, of course, but 
he could not leave the matter be. The minute the old 
Chink lamped him he drew down his eyelids like the hood 
of an owl and pretended he couldn’t understand English, 
but I was watching his face and I got wise that he knew 
Ching Lee all right! I could have laughed, thinking how 
he’d been jabbering to me but he fooled Terry and the 
lunkhead went away at last without even catchitig sight 


DEADLOCK 79 

of me behind the desk!—Give me that check and let’s beat 
it.” 

They left the lunchroom and started westward again, 
McCarty seemingly lost in his own thoughts, until Den¬ 
nis observed with a touch of impatience: 

‘‘I don’t get the meaning of it at all! We know Ching 
Lee was ready to knife Hughes only yesterday and if he 
did slip that Calabar bean into his food the while him and 
Fu Moy was alone in their dining-room and then heard 
later from us that it had worked all right, you’d think he 
would just sit tight and wait for what was coming next 
instead of trailing down to the station-house to make him¬ 
self conspicuous! Wasn’t he the one that identified the 
body to us as being Hughes’, and wouldn’t he figger Terry 
and Mike would have been told of who 1 the dead guy was, 
even if it hadn’t come out in the morning papers? If he 
wanted to know whether the autopsy’d showed poison or 
not he’d only have had to’ wait for the next edition! 
Yet, when you had that hunch ’twas there he’d gone this 
morning you must have doped out that he had some good 
reason for it; what put the notion in your head to send 
me down there, Mac?” 

But McCarty made strange answer. 

“If he’d been in a hurry to get there he’d have took 
the subway over here.” They were crossing Lexington 
Avenue, proceeding toward the Park. “Even if he’d 
walked it all the way he would have got down to the 
waterfront before nine, providing he took the most direct 
route, unless he stopped somewhere. He was in a hurry 
when he left the house but that might have been because 
of the storm coming; he was in no hurry to get where 
we found him, for all he was trying to run when he fell. 
Now what—?” 


80 


ANNIHILATION 


His voice trailed away into silence and his companion 
shrugged in exasperation. 

“ ’Tis like talking to the empty air to ask you a civil 
question these days, what with your new learning, but if 
you’re asking me one, and it’s about Hughes last night. 
I’ll remind you of what you said coming over in the 
taxi; that maybe he wasn’t bound for anywhere in par¬ 
ticular but just wandering along, crazed by delirium and 
suffering. According to what the inspector told us con¬ 
cerning the action of that Calabar bean, he must have 
been in fierce pain before paralysis set in the lungs of 
him. It might have been then he stopped somewhere, 
though he could have been staggering and lurching around 
the streets for hours between the New Queen’s Mall and 
the waterfront.” 

McCarty shook his head. 

“If you’ll call to mind, too, Denny, the inspector said 
the effect of the poison wouldn’t be felt for maybe a couple 
of hours, the amount he’d took of it. It come on him sud¬ 
den, and that when he was near the old precinct, and it 
worked quick to the end. I’m not making little of the 
inspector’s power of persuasion but I wish we’d had the 
first shot at that Snape!—Look here, how much have you 
got on you?” 

“Nine dollars and sixty-two cents.” Dennis replied 
with the promptitude of certainty but he eyed the ques¬ 
tioner askance. 

“I’ll get fifty for you before night. Thanks be, that 
sporting butler of Mrs. Bellamy’s has never laid eyes on 
either of us, and you’ve the luck of Old Nick with the 
cards! Come evening, you’ll be—” 

“Come six o’clock this night I’ll be on duty for twenty- 
four solid hours, if you’ll remember!” Dennis interrupted, 


DEADLOCK 


81 


regretfully but firmly. “If you were fixing for me to sit 
in a little game with Snape after scraping acquaintance 
with him, to find out maybe what the inspector overlooked 
I d like nothing better, and I misdoubt but that if you 
take it on instead you’ll be losing the clothes off your 
back! Could you not let it go till to-morrow, night ?” 

The note of solicitude in his tone was lost upon Mc¬ 
Carty in whose bosom the aspersion cast upon his poker 
ability rankled. 

“If I’m losing the last stitch on me ’twill not be through 
playing close to my chest, like some!” he asserted darkly. 
“I was going back through the gate to have another talk 
with the Sloanes, if so be I’d find them-in this time of day, 
but they’ll keep, and I’ve a check-book and some letters 
in my pocket that may give us as good a line on Hughes 
as Snape himself could; besides, the inspector’ll be drop¬ 
ping in for the good word. Come on till we hop a bus 
up to the cross-town.” 

Arriving before the entrance which led to McCarty’s 
rooms they were astonished to see the door of the antique 
shop beside it open and the inspector himself emerge. 

“Where have you two been?” he asked sharply. “I 
haven’t time to go upstairs but unlock the door, Mac, and 
we’ll step inside. Your friend Ballard of the ‘Bulletin’ 
has been hanging around; how in hell did he know you 
were in on this Hughes case ?” 

McCarty considerately forebore to glance at Dennis’ 
chagrined countenance as he swung the door wide, but 
it was obvious to his own mind that the ubiquitous re¬ 
porter must have been in touch with Mike or Terry at the 
station-house since his loyal but bungling assistant’s visit 
of the morning. 

“I don’t know, sir,” he replied innocently. “I’ve not 


82 


ANNIHILATION 


laid eyes on Jimmie this long while.—But what’s up? 
I left you heading for Parsons’ house; did you get any 
dope from the old man about the hat, maybe?” 

“How did you know he was old?” Inspector Druet 
countered. 

“Goddard was after telling me he was a philanthropist 
and youth don’t turn to charity, as a rule,” observed Mc¬ 
Carty. “Moreover he’s got a grown niece, and they’ve 
small use for any of their neighbors in spite of the mil¬ 
lions around them.” 

“So 1 1 gathered,” remarked the inspector dryly. “Par¬ 
sons is a fine-looking old man with a face like a saint and 
a voice like a preacher, but he’s stern and unbending as a 
ramrod! He could not recognize the hat and he knew 
no one in the New Queen’s Mall; his sister took no in¬ 
terest in society, his niece had her own friends beyond 
the gates and he himself was engrossed in affairs which 
required all his time and attention. I figured the old 
gentleman would thaw when I said every one knew of the 
great good he’d done with his model tenements and play¬ 
grounds, and free hospital and shelters, but he shut me 
up as though I’d made a break and told me he was only 
a steward. He undoubtedly had seen the man, Hughes, if 
he’d been employed for twenty years or more in a house 
across the way, but he didn’t recognize him and he’d never 
heard his name. Death by violence was a very dreadful 
thing and he only regretted his inability to aid the cause 
of justice.” 

“Was it the bunk, do you think, inspector?” Dennis 
asked. “Him talking like a book and all ?” 

The inspector shook his head. 

“He’s an old-fashioned gentleman, Riordan, the kind 
you don’t often see nowadays, and his charities speak for 


DEADLOCK 


83 


themselves for all that he doesn’t celebrate them with a 
brass band. But it brought me no nearer to getting a line 
on Hughes, nor did the talk I had with his servants; 
they’re not allowed to associate with any others on the 
block and had never talked to Hughes though they knew 
him by sight. There was one queer thing about that in¬ 
terview, though; I could swear that I’d seen one or two 
of them before but I couldn’t place them.” 

“So you drew a blank in the Parsons house?” McCarty 
commented. “So did I at the Goddard’s and as Denny 
says, ’tis not natural. The neighbors’ help may not have 
liked Hughes, or be scared now of mixing up in this 
mess, but they’re bound to have known him in all these 
years, whether they admit it or not.” 

“Then you have no sign of a clue?” The inspector’s 
face lengthened. “If we don’t clean this case up in record 
time the papers will let out a roar that we’re lying down 
on the job because.Hughes wasn’t a person of prominence, 
and with election so near the commissioner’ll be up on 
his toes to show results. It’s of more importance now 
for us to find out who killed that valet than if he were 
a king!” 


CHAPTER VII 


GERTIE 

W HEN the inspector had left them McCarty and 
Dennis mounted to the apartment above and 
together looked over the bank-book and check-book ap¬ 
propriated from beneath the rug in Hughes' room. 

The first showed a regular deposit of one hundred and 
fifty dollars on the first of every month with varying sums 
between, ranging from twenty to just under a hundred, 
but balanced it invariably revealed only a comparatively 
small amount on hand. 

“If the one hundred and fifty means his wages, he got 
mighty high ones." Dennis remarked. “Still, Orbit 
looks like the kind who’d pay anything if he was suited 
and he said Hughes was a perfect valet, if you remember. 
The money deposited during the month might be his win¬ 
nings at the races or cards and he was a lucky son-of-a- 
gun, but he seems to have lived up to nearly every cent." 

“Or lost it back again,” suggested McCarty. “Let's 
have a look at the check-book.” 

The stubs in the latter were not illuminating, for the 
dead man had evidently evolved a method of his own 
for noting those to whom he assigned checks and only 
hieroglyphics designated them. Laying aside this disap¬ 
pointing record McCarty turned to the little pile of let¬ 
ters which he had taken from the drawer of Hughes' 
dresser and passed a handful to his companion. 

84 


GERTIE 


85 


“Here, Denny, sort these,” he directed. “You can tell 
by the writing if not by the names signed to them. If 
they’re love letters from women the more fools they, and 
’tis no time to be squeamish!” 

For a brief space there was silence, except for the rustle 
of paper and an occasional shocked exclamation from 
the scandalized Dennis, but at last he glanced up with a 
look of wonderment and exclaimed: 

“Don’t it beat hell how much alike they are, all of 
them?” 

“Who are?” McCarty asked absently. 

“Women!” Dennis waved a huge paw' in a vaguely 
comprehensive gesture. “American or foreign,—and you 
can tell the last by the strange words they put in when 
they can’t think of the English of them,—they all begin 
writing to him as if they was doing him a favor, the 
scoundrel! After a bit they start bossing him, and nag¬ 
ging and fault-finding, then they throw a bluff at ‘good- 
by forever/ and the last of it’s always the same; begging 
him to come back! Tis well for us, Mac, that we’ve 
steered clear of them, for the both of us would have been 
wax in their hands!” 

“Speak for yourself!” McCarty retorted. “No living 
woman could make a mark of me, though I’m giving none 
a chance! ’Tis funny they’d fall for a beefy, middle- 
aged guy like that, though, with the little mean eyes of 
him and the bald spot and all!” 

“There’s no telling what they’ll take to!” asserted Den¬ 
nis darkly. “There’s only one sensible female in the lot 
here; this one signing herself ‘Truda.’ She tells him 
kind but firm to stop writing to her or it’ll bring trouble 
to the two of them and it’s all damn’ foolishness, any¬ 
way.” 


86 


ANNIHILATION 


“She said that?” demanded McCarty. 

“Not in those words, maybe; I’ve put it shorter and 
better than she does,” Dennis admitted modestly. “It 
looks as if she goes out sick-nursing or something, but 
she’s a married woman, all right.” 

“ ‘Married?’ ” McCarty dropped the letter he had just 
taken up. “ ‘Truda’ might stand for ‘Gertrude,’ and 
‘Gertie’ is short for the same name. I wonder now could 
she be ‘Gertie’?” 

“And who in the world is Gertie?” Dennis stared. 
“Have you been holding out on me, Mac?” 

“I have not. Snape told the inspector this morning 
that Hughes was crazy over some married woman named 
Gertie, but that’s all he knew about her. Read the letters, 
Denny.” 

“There’s only two of them.” Dennis spread out the 
thin, double sheet of folded note-paper. “Listen, then: 
this is the first, for ’tis dated August twenty-second.— 
‘Dear friend Alfred. I was surprised and very pleased 
with the so pretty flowers you send to me, but please, you 
should not do it any more. I no longer am a girl, that I 
could accept such things and also he would be so angry 
to know. He is still there but you have not seen him for 
some days because the old gentleman of whom he takes 
care has been much worser. To me he has not come, even, 
but soon he will and my lady always talks to him when 
she is well enough, she takes interest for him to learn 
English more quicker. I got fear she speaks to him of the 
pretty flowers, for I tell her they come from him, and so 
it makes troubles for you and me, the both. Because of 
that, though I thank you for the so kind thought, I ask 
that you send no more. Your very true friend, Truda.’ ” 

“Humph! Truda ain’t so strong on the English her- 


GERTIE 


87 


self, is she ?” McCarty remarked. “Sounds like a Dutch 
girl to me, or one of those squareheads. I wonder where 
her husband could be working that Hughes expected to 
see him? Anyway, it’s him, and not her does the sick- 
nursing, Denny.” 

“The both of them do!” Dennis declared. “Wait’ll you 
hear the second letter.—‘Dear friend. I could not meet 
you as you wish for my lady is not so well and I do not 
leave her bed, but also I would not. It is much silliness 
that you write me and you should not do it again once. 
You are making yourself amused with me and I got anger 
you should keep sending the letters I do not want and that 
could harm us both yet. He is not stupid and mild like 
you think. Nothing he says but much he thinks, and then 
it comes out and terrible is it. So you will not write 
again, nor try that I should see you. Your friend, 
Truda.’ ” 

“She’s Dutch, all right, and level-headed. Hughes 
must have had the fine opinion of himself as a lady- 
killer, to be chasing after a respectable married woman 
that wanted nothing to do with the likes of him!” Mc¬ 
Carty snorted. “I’ll bet Snape knows who she is and 
the husband, too, only he’s scared to speak now.” 

“Mac, do you mind what Orbit told us about that 
Calabar bean being used as a medicine? Besides a doc¬ 
tor, who’d know more about medicines and poisons and 
such than a trained nurse?” Dennis’ leathery coun¬ 
tenance was flushed with sudden excitement. “Hughes 
thought Truda’s husband was a dull-witted lout, with no 
more spirit than a sick cat, but she says he’s terrible when 
he gets going, and she’d ought to know! What if he 
got on to them letters and being a foreigner with little 
or no English—!” 


88 


ANNIHILATION 


“Denny!” McCarty gazed wide-eyed at his confrere. 
“By the powers, I wonder if you’ve hit it! If Snape’s 
held anything back he’ll come across with it now! Are 
you sure there are no more ‘Truda’ letters except the 
two ?” 

“Not here, but you’ve not gone through all yours yet.” 
Dennis reminded him. 

McCarty fell upon the few that remained and run¬ 
ning hastily over them seized on one with an exclamation 
of satisfaction. It died upon his lips as he ran his eye 
down the page and then glanced up at Dennis’ tense 
face. 

“Listen you to this!” he said impressively. “ ’Tis short 
but tells more than the other two put together.—'Friend 
Alfred Hughes. To you I have tried to be kind but 
it is not good. Now I say that if you should write again 
I shall tell it to my husband that you are made to stop. 
He knows already you bother me, but comes any more 
letters and he will the street go over to make of you 
sausage meat. It is enough. Truda L.’—And ’tis dated 
just four days ago! Do you get it, Denny?” 

“Only that the husband works near, but we learned 
that much before—” 

“‘Near?’” McCarty interrupted. “He’s across the 
street! Didn’t Sloane say his old father was an invalid 
with a male nurse that was a Swede and spoke little 
English? Come on! It’s back we’ll be going to the New 
Queen’s Mall!” 

Dennis was overwhelmed with the importance of their 
discovery and ventured only one question when they 
stood again at the entrance gate. 

“How’ll we start in on him?” 

“On who?” 


GERTIE 89 

“The Swede at Sloane’s. We’ll have to find out first if 
his last name begins with ‘L.’ ” 

“I’m not going near him, not till I’ve found and talked 
to this Truda. It’s Snape I’m after and I’ll be leaving 
you outside* the gate, Denny, for maybe you’ll be scraping 
acquaintance with him to-morrow, after all.” 

Bill Jennings admitted him and stopped for a word 
with Dennis, while McCarty went quickly to the Bellamy 
house and rang the bell. The door was opened promptly 
by a tall, slenderly erect man of thirty-five or a trifle more, 
with the strongly marked features and intelligent, self- 
contained expression of an actor. The slight puffiness 
about the slate-gray eyes and'fine lines, at the corners of his 
mouth were the only evidences of the possible dissipation 
of which the watchman Jennings had spoken. He waited 
with an aloof but courteous air of inquiry to learn the 
visitor’s errand. 

“You’re the butler here? Snape is your name?” 

“Yes, sir,” the man replied with no hint of surprise in 
his tone but his eyes narrowed and a certain touch of 
deference vanished from his manner. 

“I’m a special deputy, headquarters.” McCarty showed 
the old badge which he had resurrected just before leaving 
his rooms with Dennis. “Inspector Druet thought you 
forgot one or two things this morning that you 4 might have 
had time to remember by now. Where can we talk 
private ?” 

Snape hesitated for a minute and then stepped aside 
for McCarty to enter. 

“Come this way.” He closed the door, and, turning, 
started down the hall toward the rear, with McCarty at 
his heels. The butler led his unwelcome guest through a 
door opening into the domestic quarters of the establish- 


90 


ANNIHILATION 


ment and to a plainly but comfortably appointed dining¬ 
room where he motioned to a chair at the table and seated 
himself in another opposite. 

“What can I do for you ?” His tone was brisk but not 
truculent, and McCarty, too, came to the point without 
preamble. 

“You can tell me the address where Truda’s working 
now, taking care of the sick woman.” 

“ ‘Truda?’ ” Snape frowned, as though perplexed, and 
McCarty assumed an air of impatience. 

“Oh, you know her! ‘Gertie,’ Hughes may have called 
her to you, but Truda is the name she signs to her letters 
and she mentions you in them.” 

“Me?” Snape smile incredulously. “There’s a mistake 
somewhere. I don’t know any one by either name.” 

“You spoke of her first to the inspector this morn¬ 
ing.” 

“I said Hughes had mentioned a girl named Gertie that 
he was taken with, in a manner of speaking, but I didn’t 
know anything more about her except just the name, 
though from what he said I had a notion that she was 
a married party.” Snape coughed discreetly. “I told the 
inspector Hughes and I had a bit of diversion together 
now and then, but nothing to do with women. He was 
always running after one or another of them and I never 
paid much attention to what he told me about them, but 
in the case of this ‘Gertie’ he did say there was some¬ 
body in the way, and I supposed he meant a husband.” 

“You know well there was a husband and you’d not 
need the strength of a child to throw a stone right now 
and hit him!” McCarty retorted. “She’s respectable, with 
no use for Hughes and his nonsense, and it was to save 
her trouble, since he’s dead and out of it, that I came to 


GERTIE 


91 


you for her address instead of going across the street 
and giving her away to the man she’s married to. Of 
course, if you can’t recall Hughes mentioning it to you 
I’ve no choice.” 

He made as if to rise and Snape wet his thin lips 
nervously. 

“I have my place to consider.” There was a slight 
whine in his tone. “How do I know that the ‘Truda’ you 
speak of is the same—!” 

“Come across if you’re going to!” McCarty interrupted 
with the harsh, commanding bark of the old days. “You 
know damn’ well that if I go over to the Sloanes’ and 
tell her husband ’twas you first wised us up that Hughes 
and his wife—” 

“I never said Otto Lindholm’s wife was the woman 
Hughes was taken with!” A sullen note had replaced the 
whine. “I said it was somebody named ‘Gertie’ and there 
could be a million Gerties! The one he knew might be 
companion to an invalid up on the Drive; a Mrs. Co¬ 
chrane, who has a private house in the neighborhood of 
Eightieth Street, somewhere, but it’s not for me to say. 
Hughes talked about so many—” 

He paused with a shrug and McCarty asked quickly: 

“When was the last time you saw Otto Lindholm?” 

“The night before last—Thursday,—about eleven 
o’clock. We met at the east gate coming in.” 

“What did'he have to say to you?” 

“Nothing much. He’s - too thick-headed to learn Eng¬ 
lish and he don’t say two words to anybody.” Snape 
spoke with lazy contempt, but there was an undercurrent 
of antagonism which McCarty recognized. 

“He had a few words with* you, though, didn’t he? 
What are you and him on bad terms about?” 


92 


ANNIHILATION 


“I don't even know him, except to nod to when we 
meet!" Snape disclaimed. “He’s a surly customer and 
never had any use for Hughes even before—" 

He checked himself but it was too late. 

“Before Thursday night, eh? So Hughes was with 
you when you met outside the gate?" McCarty pounced 
on him like a flash. “What passed between the three of 
you? I want every word." 

“Oh, well, Lindholm just said ‘hello’ to me and then 
he stepped up to Hughes and growled something about let¬ 
ting his wife alone or he’d fix him. That’s all I know, I 
can’t repeat his lingo. Hughes blustered it out and Lind¬ 
holm went on in ahead of us muttering to himself, when 
Dave Hollis opened the gate. I didn’t want to say any¬ 
thing about it, because of getting the woman into trouble, 
but what’s all this got to do with Hughes’ death ?" The 
gray eyes lighted shrewdly. “You fellows think there 
was something wrong or you wouldn’t be raising all this 
row over it. Nobody had it in for him bad enough to do 
him any hurt, and the papers said nothing about his hav¬ 
ing been beat up! You don’t think he was murdered, 
do you?" 

The amused insolence in the man’s voice was only 
slightly veiled. McCarty concluded that if he were put¬ 
ting it on he was indeed a smooth proposition, as the in¬ 
spector had said. 

“Nobody beat him up." He ignored the final ques¬ 
tion. “Do you know any of the other help over at the 
Sloanes’ ?" 

“Only John Platt, the butler, but he’s old and hardly 
leaves the house." Snape had risen with alacrity, but as 
he showed McCarty to the front door he added anxiously: 
“I never even saw the Lindholm woman but once, and I 


GERTIE 


93 


don’t know what you want her for, but I hope you won’t 
say that I tipped you off about her! I don’t want to get in 
any mix-up with that Swede husband of hers and it would 
be as much as my place is worth, if I was thought to have 
made trouble in the Mall here!” 

On the sidewalk before the house McCarty found an 
exceedingly pretty young girl in the picturesque dress of 
the typical French bonne, guiding the steps of a tiny, tod¬ 
dling baby. The child was dimpling and gurgling with 
mischief. Snatching suddenly at her nurse’s handbag she 
tossed it as far out on the sidewalk as she could. Mc¬ 
Carty retrieved and returned it with a bow. 

“Merci, monsieur/’ the girl said gravely, but her dark 
eyes too danced with laughter. “She is a very naughty, 
bad baby that I have here, is it not so?” 

The last observation was evidently intended for her 
charge, but McCarty replied gallantly: 

“ ’Twas a pleasure, miss! Sure, at that age they’re all 
full of the—of life. It’s Mrs. Bellamy’s little girl, isn’t 
it?” 

“Yes, Monsieur.” Her eyes were serious now and 
there was a note of reserve in her soft voice. “Come, ma 
petite. We shall go in now.” 

Dennis was waiting patiently and evinced considerable 
interest in the brief tete-a-tete he had just witnessed, but 
McCarty was not in a mood to be treated with levity. 

“She’s a pretty girl and a polite one, but well you know 
I’ve no eye for them!” he disclaimed. “I’ll be taking you 
now to call on another, though, that’ll maybe give us some 
real dope.” 

“It’s Truda!” exulted Dennis. “You’ve made him 
come across with her address! Did you get anything else 
out of him, Mac?” 


94 


ANNIHILATION 


“Only that there was bad blood between her husband, 
that nurses at the Sloanes’, and Hughes.” McCarty re¬ 
peated the tale of the encounter and his companion’s face 
expressed satisfaction. 

“ ’Twill be him, all right!” he predicted sagely. “Them 
silent, slow-thinking fellows are the worst! Where’d he 
get hold of that Calabar bean stuff and how’d he slip 
it to Hughes?” 

“And why didn’t I go and pinch him right off the bat 
instead of taking this little trip?” McCarty supplemented 
sarcastically, as they boarded an uptown car. “There’s 
more than him and that wall-eyed Chink that had it in for 
Hughes, but we’ll see what his wife has to say.” 

A telephone book, in a drug-store on Eightieth Street, 
vouchsafed them the house number of the only Cochranes 
on Riverside Drive. They found the place to be a small, 
solidly built residence of gray stone with potted evergreens 
flanking the turn of the steps to the entrance door. 

A trim little maid with a coquettishly frilled apron ad¬ 
mitted them to a foyer, arranged informally as a library 
or den, with seats built in at either side of the empty 
hearth and books ranged along the opposite wall behind 
a long table. There she left them and presently slow, soft 
footsteps sounded on the stairs and another woman ap¬ 
peared. 

She was thirty or thereabout, with thick braids of 
coarse, pale-gold hair wound around a small, shapely 
head, and a face whose perfect features would have ren¬ 
dered it beautiful had it been lighted with intelligence; 
but the great blue eyes were dull and bovine, and, although 
the rich color came and went in her cheeks, there was 
no hint of expression beyond vaguely bewildered inquiry 
as she bowed. 


GERTIE 95 

“I am Mrs. Lindholm. The maid say that you wish 
to see me.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Dennis was gaping in flagrant ad¬ 
miration at the vision, but McCarty stepped forward. 
“We’ve come to return something that belongs to you.” 

He handed her the first two letters which she had 
written to the dead man and watched her face as she 
recognized them. A shadow of dismay darkened her 
eyes and a little frown gathered above them. 

“Oh, for why did he keep them?” Her tone was dis¬ 
tressed but without agitation. “Such a nuisance as he 
was, poor man! Where did you get these ?” 

“Amongst his things.” McCarty drew a step nearer. 
“You know he is dead then?” 

“Alfred Hughes? Yes, this morning in the papers I 
see it. So sudden it was! You are his friends, maybe?” 
She folded the letters and slipped them into the belt 
of her starched, white nurse’s uniform. “Sit down, please. 
I cannot long stay away from my patient.” 

“We’re taking charge of Alfred Hughes’ belongings 
and arranging with Mr. Orbit for the funeral.” McCarty 
explained speciously, as they complied. “You and him 
were good friends, weren’t you?” 

Truda Lindholm shook her blonde head slowly. 

“No. I meet him by accident when I go to see my 
husband, who works across the street from Mr. Orbit’s, 
and then he waits for me two—three times. If you have 
read these letters you must know he gets a foolishness in 
his mind to make a flirtation with me, but it did not please 
me. He is gone now, poor soul, and so we do not talk 
about that, no?” 

“But you did talk about it, didn’t you, Mrs. Lindholm ?” 
asked McCarty. “You told your husband?” 


96 


ANNIHILATION 


“Oh, yes, it is right that I tell him Her eyes opened 
wider, but there was no trace of confusion in her tone. 
“Already I told him that Alfred Hughes followed me, 
and once he and that friend of his who works next door, 
they want I should go to a dance with them. Such a non¬ 
sense, a married woman! I think it is joost silly but 
Otto is angry and so I do not tell him any more.” 

She spoke with the naive candor of a child. McCarty 
continued: 

“You did tell him when Hughes wouldn’t stop writing 
to you, though. When did you see your husband last, 
Mrs. Lindholm? Thursday evening, was it?” 

“Thursday, yes. It is then I tell him. I am tired that 
I should be bothered and I think he shall speak to Alfred 
Hughes, but now I am sorry.” 

“Why?” Dennis found his voice all at once, and the 
woman turned a glance of calm wonder upon him. 

“That my Otto should be for nothing worried? So 
much to heart he takes things, and now it makes no dif¬ 
ference. You do not think, please, that I am without 
feeling about the so unfortunate death of your friend. It 
makes me shocked and sad to read of it, but death is al¬ 
ways sad. Thank you much for my letters, it was a 
foolishness that they were not sooner destroyed.—And 
now I must go to Mrs. Cochrane. You will excuse 
me?” 

She rose, and Dennis and McCarty followed suit, but 
the latter shook his head. 

“Just a minute, ma’am. Was it here you saw your 
husband on Thursday?” 

“Yes, he came to see me. But what is this ? Why do 
you ask?” Surprise raised her rather flat tones a note or 
two. 


GERTIE 


97 


“Because I want to know just what passed between you 
two about our friend Alfred Hughes.” McCarty re¬ 
sponded doggedly. “Have you heard from your husband 
since?” 

“He telephoned to me yesterday.” The color ebbed 
slowly from her cheeks, then swept back in a deep flood 
and she clasped her hands. “Oh, do you mean that there 
was trouble between them? A quarrel? Ach, such a 
pity! Otto comes to me about nine o'clock Thursday 
night. Two days before I have still another letter re¬ 
ceived from your friend asking that I should meet him 
and I am angry; I write to him that I shall tell my hus¬ 
band and so I do when he comes, for I still got anger. 
Otto, he gets a worser mad on and he wants he should go 
then to Alfred Hughes, but I say to wait, maybe comes 
no more letters and then there is no troubles. From 
Bavaria I come but my husband is Swedish and such a 
temper he has! Sometimes I think I do not know him 
and six years I am married already! We say no more 
of Alfred Hughes and I think Otto has forgotten—did 
he go yet and make bad friends with him?” 

“I guess they had some words, ma’am, but it don’t 
matter now as you say.” McCarty was watching her 
with a feeling of growing wonder on his own account. 
Could the woman be as stupid as she seemed? Hughes 
had evidently been less than nothing to her, she was ap¬ 
parently devoted to her husband and still in McCarty s 
own mental phraseology—giving him a blacker eye every 
time she opened her mouth. 

“But it is bad luck that one should be unfriends with 
the dead!” She shook her head and made a little cluck¬ 
ing noise with, her teeth. “The fault is mine that I 
should so quickly have spoken, for Alfred Hughes got 




98 


ANNIHILATION 


only the foolishness in his head to make a joke; not a 
bad man was he!” 

“Well, it’s done with now and that’s the end of it.” 
McCarty signaled to his colleague with a quick glance. 
“We- won’t be keeping you any longer from your patient. 
Is it a very hard case you’ve got?” 

“It is the nerves and heart.” A still gentler note crept 
into the dull tones. “Mrs. Cochrane has got much sor¬ 
row; her little boy she has lost less than a month ago.” 

“Too bad!” McCarty sympathized absent-mindedly. 
“What did he die of?” 

“Of tetanus.” 

Dennis started. 

“Is it catching?” he asked nervously. “Could you get 
it after?” 

A little smile dimpled Truda Lindholm’s smooth cheek. 

“Oh, no. Comes it from the scratch of a rusty nail, 
sometimes, and causes the jaws to-set rigid, to lock.” 

“Lockjaw!” Dennis stared for a moment and then 
his own lower jaw snapped. “Come along, Mac! There’s 
a date we’ll be missing!” 


CHAPTER VIII 


GATES OF MYSTERY 



HEY argued hotly all the way back to the New 


Queen’s Mall, Dennis convinced that his prediction 
was already verified < and McCarty combating the idea 
from force of habit as much as from any other urge, al¬ 
though he felt that the indications were too vague as yet, 
the clues too tenuous, to be woven into a fabric of proof. 

“What’s it that this Otto had a few words with him ?” 
he demanded as they reached the west gate on the Avenue. 
“Ching Lee went further than that with a knife! Be¬ 
cause Truda is working now in a house where a child 
died of the lockjaw, and Calabar bean is one of the cures 
they try for it, you’ve got it all fixed that Otto laid hold of 
some of it there, or Truda gave it to him, and he must 
needs have gone over the way and sprinkled enough of it 
on Hughes’ dinner, unbeknownst to any one, to kill him! 
’Tis well you took to fire-fighting, Denny, instead of fol¬ 
lowing me on the Force!” 

“Is it so!” Dennis retorted. “I’m still on my job, let 
me remind you, though maybe ’tis well you resigned when 
you did, if you can’t see further than the end of your own 
nose, that you couldn’t even smell with last night! Who 
else on the block has been within a mile of a case of 
lockjaw, and for what else would that powdered bean 
be left lying around? Swede or Chink, a man’s a man, 
though you might pick up a knife or a blackthorn, which- 


100 


ANNIHILATION 


ever was handiest, to go for a bully you saw abusing a 
kid it would be in hot rage; ’twould take something bigger 
than that to make you sit down, cool and calm, and figure 
out how to poison him! But a jealous husband might, 
and didn't Otto threaten to ‘fix' Hughes, by the words 
out of Snape’s mouth? That Truda don’t suspicion a 
thing, but then she’d not know it if a powder factory 
took fire next door! ’Tis a crime of nature that such a 
grand-looking woman should be so dumb!” 

“We’ve another kind of a crime on our hands, I’d 
remind you,” McCarty observed. “Where on earth is 
that Bill Jennings ?” 

He rang once more and Dennis pointed through the 
grill-work of the fence. 

“There he is, clear at the other end of the block, letting 
another guy out of the east gate. They’ve walled them¬ 
selves in fine, the folks that live here, but they could 
not shut out age, nor sickness, nor murder! Good-after¬ 
noon, sir!” 

Immaculate in frock coat and tall silk hat, the elder of 
the two Sloanes, whom they had encountered on the pre¬ 
vious evening, had swung briskly down the Avenue to 
their side. He appeared, for the moment, oblivious to 
Dennis’ salutation, as he fumbled with his gold pince- 
nez and stared down the vista of the enclosed street. 

“Confound it! What’s the fellow mean—?” Then 
he drew himself up and turned to the couple near. “Oh, 
you’re the men from Headquarters! Still on that affair 
of Orbit’s valet?—I’ve forgotten my key again; such a 
bore!” 

“There, the watchman’s seen us; he’s coming on the 
run.” McCarty nudged his companion and then added 


GATES OF MYSTERY 


101 


to Gardner Sloane: “We’ve been talking to the other 
servants on the block, but we haven’t been to your house 
yet since you said only your butler and the trained nurse 
would be likely to have known Hughes.” 

“Unless I’m mistaken that was Lindholm the nurse 
going out the other gate just now!” Sloane fumed. 
“Wretched impudence, his leaving my father like this 
without permission. It always gives him a bad turn 
to be left alone. But what’s all this to do about the 
valet’s death? Nothing actually suspicious about it, was 
there? Silly rot, having an investigation of this sort in 
the Mall!” 

Bill Jennings pounded heavily up and admitted them at 
this juncture, preventing the necessity of a reply from 
McCarty, who was carefully avoiding Dennis’ stare of 
dismayed inquiry. 

“Yes, sir, that was Otto Lindholm,” the watchman an¬ 
swered Sloane’s irascible query. “He remarked to me 
that he was called away sudden for a few days.” 

“I am not interested in his remarks! He shall be dis¬ 
missed for this!” Sloane strode off angrily, without tak¬ 
ing further notice of the two who had followed him, and 
Dennis plucked McCarty’s sleeve. 

“We’ve lost him!” he exclaimed disconsolately. “That 
wife of his may not have been so dumb, after all, if 
she’s ’phoned and put him wise!” 

“Let be!” McCarty cautioned: “Bill, did Lindholm 
say where he was going? He must have been called away 
mighty quick, for we had a kind of a date with him.” 

“He didn’t say, but he looked more glum than usual; 
seemed in a hurry, too.” Bill turned and then waited as 
they did not advance. 


102 


ANNIHILATION 


“Well, it’s no matter, anyway. We were to pick up 
the inspector but I guess he’s gone on downtown. We’ll 
be*beating it ourselves, Denny.” 

Outside the gates once more, Dennis observed: 

“Likely the woman’s gone, too, and it’s near six. I’ll 
have to be getting back to the fire-house to report, but 
you’ll let me know if you locate them? No matter when 
or how he contrived to dose Hughes with that poison it 
must have been Lindholm, for his skipping out proves 
it! To think of them-two dumb-bells, the man and the 
woman, being at the bottom of it!” 

McCarty shook his head. 

“ ’Twas not a crime of brawn, Denny, but of brains, 
and I’m thinking the one clever enough to plan it would 
be too farseeing to run away before he’d real reason. I’ll 
drop ’round to-morrow morning if there’s any news.” 

On the west side of the park they separated, Dennis to 
take up his duty and McCarty to return to the Cochrane 
house. As the former had predicted, Truda Lindholm had 
departed hurriedly half an hour before, after a telephone 
conversation during which she had learned of serious 
illness in her own family. The same trim maid who 
opened the door at their first visit was McCarty’s in¬ 
formant and she couldn’t say from whom the message 
had come, but she added that Mrs. Lindholm seemed more 
distressed at leaving her patient than anxious over her 
own trouble. She had been there nearly a month, since 
just after Mrs. Cochrane’s little boy died, and had come 
well recommended from the West End registry for 
nurses; they had all liked her. 

At the registry office McCarty obtained an address in 
the Bronx, only to learn from the Swedish couple living 
there that Mr. and Mrs. Lindholm had boarded with 


GATES OF MYSTERY 


103 


them up to a month before, but had left, giving the 
Sloane house as a forwarding address. 

He ate a solitary dinner and then returned to his rooms, 
to meditate disgustedly over the negative result of the 
day’s efforts. Hughes’ murder challenged his every in¬ 
stinct and habit of mind. If Ching Lee knew nothing 
of it, what impulse had taken him that morning to the 
scene of the crime’s consummation? Were Lindholm and 
his wife both stupid enough to have taken alarm at the 
first hint of investigation, if they were innocent, and so 
deserted their responsible positions? Had Snape really 
told all he knew? 

McCarty chewed savagely on his unlighted cigar, as 
he paced back and forth. How would the bright lads iri 
the new scientific school of criminal psychology down at 
headquarters get after the mystery? With a concrete 
example before him, would those books he had vainly 
pored over give him a hint now? Dubiously he resur¬ 
rected his newly-acquired collection from the depths of 
his closet and then paused at sight of the pale blue covered 
pamphlet protruding from the pocket of the coat hanging 
above. It was the book he had appropriated from 
Orbit’s library the night before, because it seemed to 
have something about psychology in it that a fellow 
could get through his head. Now he sat himself down 
doggedly to study it, with his own library scattered about 
him. 

It was dawn before he went to bed at last, with the 
unaltered conviction that this new school was not for 
him and that if he were to succeed at all it must be by 
the wits God gave him, which, he had once told Dennis, 
were his only science. 

Yet Sunday passed and Monday; Hughes was laid to 


104 


ANNIHILATION 


rest in the grave provided for him by his late employer, 
and still there was no inkling of his murderer’s identity. 
Ching Lee blandly declared he had been to Chinatown 
on the morning after the tragedy and offered to produce 
numerous relations to prove it. No slightest trace could 
be found of the Lindholms; and Snape kept sedulously 
to the Bellamy house, affording Dennis no opportunity 
to foster an acquaintance. The newspapers were already 
criticizing the police department, Inspector Druet smarted 
under the recriminations from higher up, and Dennis 
lugubriously predicted defeat. 

'The truth of it will never come out, Mac, with them 
Lindholms disappearing and all,” he remarked on Tues¬ 
day afternoon, as they walked slowly down the Mall 
toward Orbit’s house. "Maybe if we could get a line on 
Hughes’ actions from the time he left here and the way 
he took down to where he died—?” 

"I’ve taken a dozen different routes trying to get 
trace of somebody who might have noticed him when 
he first took sick to see did he give a hint to them of what 
he was wanting to say when the end came, but ’tis no 
matter of use,” McCarty interrupted gloomily. "You 
said the first night we set foot in here that ’twould be 
small mystery could last for long between these two 
gates and yet it’s within a space where you could swing 
a cat that the answer lies; that’s what gets my goat! I 
want to have another talk with Orbit. He’s late getting 
in his coal, ain’t he?” 

The roar of coal sliding down a chute from a huge 
truck beside the door almost drowned his comment, but 
Dennis nodded. 

"Look at them two guys working like blazes shoving 
it down the hole quicker, and Jean waiting with the hose 


GATES OF MYSTERY 


105 


to clean the sidewalk after.” He pointed. “Orbit must 
be going to give some sort of a shindy, for isn’t that a 
red carpet and an awning piled up alongside the door? 
You’ll be out of luck if you’re wanting to interview him 
again this afternoon.” 

“No. There he is up in the window of his own private 
sitting-room, so don’t be pointing, Denny! He’s doing 
something to the flowers.” 

By daylight the front of the classic white marble house 
was a blaze of gorgeous color from the window boxes on 
each sill filled with blooms of vivid but perfectly blended 
hue, with graceful vines trailing in slender, artfully 
trained tendrils down over the gleaming walls. 

In one of the windows on the second floor the tall 
figure of Henry Orbit appeared, the delicate touch of 
silver in his dark hair plainly visible as he bent forward, 
and when he caught sight of the two below he inclined 
his head in dignified but amicable greeting. 

“We’ll go to him now?” Denny asked. 

“After we stroll down to the other gate and back. 
Did it strike you that there’s no sign of Bill Jennings on 
the block?” At the insistence of the inspector they had 
been temporarily provided with a key to the Mall, render¬ 
ing them independent of the offices of either day or night 
watchman, but until now they had invariably encountered 
one or the other of these guardians. 

“Maybe he’s having a bit of a chat with a maid in one 
of the houses,” Dennis suggested helpfully. “There’s 
small blame to him, for it must be mortal tiresome—” 

“It looks to me as if the gate was open.” McCarty 
insensibly quickened his steps. “Come on, I want to 
see.” 

The gate was swinging slightly ajar, but the passing 


106 


ANNIHILATION 


pedestrians on Madison Avenue gave it no heed and the 
delinquent watchman was nowhere in evidence. 

“Let’s shut it.” Dennis turned to his companion. 
“Bill’s a good fellow and there’s no need of getting him 
into trouble with the lords of creation like that Sloane if 
he’s just stepped out for a bit. He’ll have his own key 
to let himself in and these gates are damn’ foolishness, 
anyway.” 

“He’s breaking a rule if not a law, Denny, and we’ve 
no call to be condoning it for him.” McCarty’s years of 
discipline returned to him. “We’ll be minding our own 
business, and get back to Orbit’s now.” 

“Bill can’t have gone far, knowing that coal-truck 
will have to be let out in a few minutes,” Dennis averred. 
“ ’Tis almost empty now and I’ll bet those guys got a 
tip from Orbit, to be working that fast! He’s moved to 
the other window now.” 

Ching Lee admitted them, impassive as ever. Their 
call was evidently anticipated, for he conducted them at 
once up to the private study. Orbit turned from the 
window with an inquiring glance and they saw that he 
held in his hand an oddly-shaped, silver-mounted sprayer. 

“Have you any news for me ?” he asked quickly. 

“Nothing definite yet. But don’t let us bother you, 
Mr. Orbit; I just wanted to ask you a question or two.” 

“Glad to tell you anything, of course. I am just spray¬ 
ing the flowers to rid them, of any particles of coal dust 
which may have floated up.” Orbit turned again to the 
window as he spoke. “It is a pity that such a hideous 
utilitarian necessity should mar their perfection, but the 
truck is going now.” 

The rumble of the heavy vehicle arose from below as he 
spoke. Stepping to the other window, McCarty saw that 


GATES OF MYSTERY 


107 


the familiar figure of Bill Jennings was waiting once more 
by the eastern gate which he had thrown wide. 

“You’re having a party later, Mr. Orbit?” 

“A musicale. Giambattista is to appear and my guests 
will arrive in an hour. The unfortunate delay in putting 
in the coal—but what did you wish to ask me ? I would 
have recalled the invitations if I could for I am in little 
mood for a function; the mystery surrounding the death 
of poor Hughes is more disturbing than anything I have 
known for years and I am waiting anxiously for it to be 
solved.” 

He came forward again, replacing the sprayer in its 
case, and seated himself in the chair beside his writing 

table. 

“Well, it was quite a bit of money Hughes left for a 
fellow that threw it around like he did and the inspector 
dropped a hint of it to the newspaper boys so if anybody 
thought they could fake a claim they’d show themselves. 
He wants to know if you’ve been approached?” 

Dennis stared in amazement at this unexpected depar¬ 
ture but Orbit shook his head. 

“I have heard nothing from any claimant in this coun¬ 
try or his own, but I have instructed my attorneys to cable 
to Cornwall, not only for Hughes’ heirs but to ascertain if 
any close relatives of his are in actual want. I feel that 
it is the least I can do after twenty years of efficient 
service.” 

“You’ve not replaced him yet?” 

Orbit shrugged. 

“That would be well-nigh impossible to do. A new 
man is coming in a few days, highly recommended by a 
friend, but he will not be another Hughes. . . . What is 
it, Ching Lee?” 


108 


ANNIHILATION 


He had taken a cigarette from an ivory box on the 
table and he paused with it midway to his lips as the 
butler appeared in the doorway. 

“The tutor, Mr. Trafford, sir. He desires to know if 
Master Horace is here.” 

“ ‘Here ?’” Orbit raised his eyebrows. “No. I haven’t 
seen the little chap since he passed this morning with 
Mr. Trafford. You might ask Fu Moy or Jean if they 
have seen him.” 

“Very good, sir.” 

Ching Lee inclined his head and departed, as silently 
as he had come. Orbit lighted his cigarette and leaned 
back. 

“You’ve no definite clue yet, you say? None of 
Hughes’ associates, whoever they may have been, can sug¬ 
gest any reason for such a purposeless crime as this ap¬ 
pears ?” 

“We’re looking for more of his associates, Mr. Orbit. 
The gentlemen who’ve visited you here—the most of 
them brought their own valets with them, didn’t they?” 

“Naturally.” Orbit nodded and blew a smoke ring 
thoughtfully into the air. 

“Hughes may have grown thick with some of them, 
though you’d not be likely to know of it. I’d like a list 
as near as you can remember of the gentlemen who have 
stayed here during the past year, say, so we can look 
up their servants.” 

“I can tell you offhand of several of my guests but it 
will take more time than I can spare this afternoon to give 
you a complete list, and frankly, it is distasteful to me to 
have my friends annoyed.” Orbit’s tone was pleasant but 
firm. “The latest to visit me, whom I can recall, are 
Professor Harrowden, from the Smithsonian Institute, 


GATES OF MYSTERY 


109 


Sir Philip Devereux and Conan Fairclough of London, 
Sabatiano Maura, Yareslow Gazdik—” 

“Mr. Orbit, would you write the last two?” McCarty in¬ 
terrupted earnestly. “Where might Professor Harrow- 
den be found?” 

“In South America just now, leading an expedition up 
the Amazon.” Orbit laid his cigarette in a tray of curi¬ 
ously hammered red gold and reached obligingly for a 
pen. “Fairclough’s off for Africa again, I believe, and 
Gazdik is playing a series of concerts at Biarritz.” 

“Are the others it the ends of the earth, too?” The 
question was bland, but McCarty’s smile was a trifle 
grim. 

“Oh, no!” Orbit smiled also in understanding, as he 
rose and offered the sheet of paper. “Sir Philip is on 
his way here from the West to visit me again for a 
few days and Maura’s portrait exhibition closes in Phila¬ 
delphia before the end of the month when he, too, will 
return before sailing again for Madrid. I’ll send the 
complete list to headquarters for you, but I’m afraid you 
won’t find that their menservants learned much of 
Hughes’ affairs in the brief time they were here.” 

McCarty thanked him and they took their departure, en¬ 
countering Ching Lee in the hall below who showed them 
out in silence. 

“ ’Tis beyond me what you got out of that interview,” 
Dennis declared. “Stalling, is what I’d have called 
it!” 

“The two of us!” McCarty agreed with a chuckle. 
“Him as well as me. He’ll not be dragging his friends 
into this business if he can help it! . . . Who’s the lanky, 
worried-looking guy talking to Bill?” 

Halfway down the block, a tall, thin, bespectacled 


110 


ANNIHILATION 


young man was gesticulating nervously as he confronted 
the watchman whose vehement shakes of the head denoted 
protestation. While they watched, the young man turned 
abruptly and made for the Goddard house. Bill ad¬ 
vanced slowly toward them. 

“Have you fellows seen the Goddard boy?” he asked. 
“He's the red-headed kid you saw me let in the first day 
you came. That was his private teacher who's been look¬ 
ing for him for an hour but he didn’t go out either of the 
gates.” 

“Maybe he did awhile back when that one was left 
open,” McCarty suggested dryly. 

“Good Lord, did you know that!” Bill gasped. “If you 
let on it'll cost me my job, and I only stepped 'round the 
corner for a smoke! The kid's all right, but they treat 
him like a baby. Did you find out yet who killed 
Hughes ?” 

“We’re waiting for news every minute,” McCarty as¬ 
sured him gravely as they reached the western gate. “I 
shouldn’t wonder if it came to-night.” 

“Now what in the world did you give him that bunk 
for?” demanded Dennis, when they had left the Mall 
safely behind them. 

“I said 'news,' but not of what kind, Denny,” replied 
his companion with dignity. “You’re not on duty till 
morning?” 

“No, I was thinking I'd drop in at Molly's, now the 
kid has got over the measles.” 

“Well, come to my rooms when you leave your sister’s,” 
McCarty invited. “I’ve accepted a bribe from one of 
my Homevale tenants, who's law-breaking in his cellar, 
and if you're not afraid of being poisoned like 
Hughes-?” 



GATES OF MYSTERY 


111 


“I’ll be there!” Dennis promised with alacrity. 

He was as good as his word but when he arrived no 
refreshment awaited him. Instead, McCarty turned from 
the telephone with a glint of latent excitement in his blue 
eyes and announced: 

“The news has come, Denny. Horace Goddard has 
been kidnapped 1” 


CHAPTER IX 


IN THIN AIR 

**/^LAD you could come at once, McCarty.” Eustace 
Goddard’s ruddy face was pale, and the humorous 
quirk beneath the ends of the small, sandy mustache had 
given place to a tremulous droop.” Your inspector 
thought I had some information for you about that valet’s 
death when I telephoned headquarters to ask for your 
address and I didn’t undeceive him. Don’t want any 
notoriety about this while a shadow of doubt remains— 
but God! I—I’m worried!” 

“You’ll recall Special Deputy Riordan from that first 
talk we had at Orbit’s?” McCarty indicated his colleague 
who stood in the doorway. “You told me over the ’phone 
that your boy had been kidnapped; he’s pretty big for 
that, ain’t he, and in broad day?” 

“What else can we think?” Goddard threw out his 
arms in a helpless gesture. “Horry vanished in thin air 
this afternoon! He hadn’t any idea of going out, in fact, 
he complained of a headache after lunch—he has never 
been very strong—and his mother left him curled up on 
the couch in the library here when she went shopping. 
She returned late to dress for Orbit’s musicale and didn’t 
inquire for him, supposing him to be with Trafford, his 
tutor. I reached home from the club about half-past five 
and found Trafford very much disturbed—But here he 
is! He’ll tell you himself. Mr. Trafford, these are the 
112 


IN THIN AIR 


113 


men for whom I sent. Will you tell them when you 
first missed Horry?” 

The thin, anxious-looking, bespectacled young man, 
whom they had seen in conversation with the watchman 
that afternoon, came slowly forward. 

“I went to the library at three to tell him it was time 
for his Latin lesson,” he began, his voice dazed and 
shaken. “He wasn’t there and I searched the house for 
him, surprised that he should have gone out without men¬ 
tioning it. Then it occurred to me that he might have 
slipped over to Mr. Orbit’s house next door, where there 
is an exceptionally fine collection of paintings which fasci¬ 
nate him. His ruling ambition is to- become an artist and 
Mr. Orbit has encouraged him—but I digress, I went 
there to inquire for him but no one had seen him, and 
then, really anxious, I questioned the watchman who as¬ 
sured me that he had not gone out either gate.” 

“H’m!” remarked McCarty as Dennis shuffled his feet 
uneasily. “And what did you do after, Mr. Trafford?” 

“I concluded that Horace had gone to see the artist who 
has been instructing him in drawing and of whom he is 
very fond; I could think of nothing else that would ac¬ 
count for his disappearance, but it seemed probable some 
neighbor with a key to the Mall had entered just as he 
left so that the watchman need not have been called upon 
to open the gate for him.” The young man’s hands were 
clenching and unclenching nervously and beads of mois¬ 
ture stood out upon his forehead. “I therefore didn’t 
mention it to Mrs. Goddard before she went to the musi- 
cale but waited, believing Horace would return at any 
moment. When the afternoon grew late I searched the 
house again, questioned the servants, even went across 
the street to inquire at the Sloane house for him; young 


114 


ANNIHILATION 


Mr. Sloane has taken an interest also in his artistic ef¬ 
forts and it is the only other house on the block he is 
privileged to visit by himself, since the Burminsters are 
still away. I—I met with no success!—If I had only 
given the alarm earlier!” 

He was turning away with a groan when McCarty 
asked: 

“Why didn’t you think to ’phone Blaisdell and ask if 
the lad had been there, Trafford?” 

The wretched tutor stared and Goddard, who had been 
standing with his elbows on the mantel and his head in his 
hands, suddenly wheeled. 

“How did you know Blaisdell is the artist who has been 
giving him lessons?” he demanded. 

McCarty smiled. 

“I heard him say himself that Blaisdell was going on 
a sketching tour next month and would take him, only 
you wouldn’t hear of it,” he explained. “The boy was 
wild to go along-” 

“Mr. Blaisdell started yesterday,” the tutor inter¬ 
rupted. “I learned this when I telephoned to his studio 
this afternoon, as I did as soon as the idea occurred to 
me that Horace might have gone there. I forgot to men¬ 
tion it but my anxiety—! I feel criminally negligent in 
having taken the situation so easily!” 

“Don’t the boy ever get a chance to play with other 
lads?” Dennis spoke for the first time, his tone filled with 
pitying contempt. “Couldn’t he have gone to the Park 
and then home to supper with one or another of 
them?” 

“My son does not play in the Park,” Goddard responded 
with dignity. “He rides there with a class from the 
Academy on two mornings of the week but the season 




IN THIN AIR 


115 


does not reopen until next month, Horace is delicate 
as I told you and has never cared for rough, physical 
exercise, although he is far from being a mollycoddle. 
He has a few friends of his own age but they are all 
still at their country homes; Mr. Trafford and I have 
telephoned to every one we can think of! Mrs, God¬ 
dard is prostrated and under the care of her physician; 
when she returned from Orbit’s musicale and learned of 
Horace’s disappearance she was almost beside herself. 
He is our only child, you know'. If anything has hap¬ 
pened to him—!” ’ 

He ran his hand violently through his scanty fringe of 
hair and McCarty observed : 

“ ’Tis queer the lad didn’t tell you himself that Blaisdell 
was going away yesterday.” 

“He hasn’t talked of him very much lately.” Goddard 
hesitated and then went on: “Horace is an unusual boy, 
very sensitive and reserved. I don’t pretend to under¬ 
stand him. He took it very much to heart when we de¬ 
clined to allow him to go on this sketching tour but, of 
course, it was out of the question; no one but an artist 
would have suggested such an impractical thing for a boy 
of his age, and with his frail constitution!—Damn that 
dog! He’ll drive me out of my mind!” 

A doleful, long-drawn howl, subdued but eloquent, 
reached their ears from below-stairs and McCarty remem¬ 
bered his brief talk with the boy in that very room three 
days before. 

“Is that Max, the police dog your son was telling me 
about when I called here ?” 

“Yes. He wandered around whining until I couldn’t 
stand it any longer and had him shut up. Devilish 
clever animal and devoted to Horry—knows there’s 


116 


ANNIHILATION 


something wrong! By God, hear that! Midnight! 
What can have happened to my boy?” 

He dropped into a chair burying his face in his hands 
as the clock struck and once more Dennis spoke. 

“Have you any notion how much pocket money the 
lad had this day?” 

It was Trafford who replied to him. 

“Six dollars and seventy-five cents, I am teaching 
him to keep a budget and he carefully puts down what¬ 
ever he spends each day.” 

“Little and red-headed, wasn’t he, with a narrow chest 
and spindling legs—” 

“Riordan means is he small for his age and kind of deli¬ 
cate looking?” McCarty amended hastily, glaring at the 
tactless interrogator. “How was he dressed when you 
last saw him and what’s missing from his things?” 

“He wore a brown pedestrian suit and brown shoes 
and golf stockings,” the tutor answered. “He had a plain 
platinum wrist watch on a leather strap and a gold seal 
ring with the family coat of arms. Nothing else is miss¬ 
ing except a brown cloth cap with the manufacturer’s 
name, ‘Knowles,’ inside. Before communicating with 
you, Mr. Goddard and I telephoned to every hospital in 
the city, fearing that some street accident might have 
occurred, but no child whose appearance tallied in the 
least degree with his had been brought in. The only re¬ 
maining possibility is that he is being detained some¬ 
where for a ransom.” 

“Have you any other reason for thinking the lad may 
have been kidnapped?” McCarty turned to Goddard. 
“Know of anybody with a grudge against you or your 
family? Had any threatening letters?” 

“Great heavens, no!” The bereaved father raised his 


IN THIN AIR 


117 


head. “Horry is a little chap for fourteen, looks nearer 
twelve in fact, and Mr. Trafford usually accompanies him 
when he leaves the Mall, but he begged so hard to go to 
Blaisdell’s studio by himself that I allowed it, though it 
was against his mother's wishes; I wanted him to be 
manly and self-reliant, and the Madison Avenue cars 
pass Blaisdell’s door near Fiftieth. I thought it was 
perfectly safe, but he may have been watched and marked 
by some criminal as a victim for kidnapping." 

“That don’t explain how or why he passed out of one 
gate or the other with not one on the whole block seeing 
him." McCarty shook his head. “You say you’re wish¬ 
ful to avoid notoriety, or I’d advise you to report the 
lad’s disappearance to the Bureau of Missing Persons 
and let the investigation take its regular course, but 
there’s a chance still that he’s not been kidnapped nor yet 
met with an accident. ’Twas for Riordan and me to 
try to locate him and get him back without having the 
newspapers getting out extras that you sent for me to- 
night?" 

Dennis caught his breath audibly at this highly ir¬ 
regular supposition, but Goddard nodded eagerly. 

“That’s it, exactly! It would kill Mrs. Goddard to 
have the press make a sensational case of this while 
there is the slightest hope that Horace may be restored 
to us without publicity. You’ll do what you can? I’ll 
pay anything, a fortune, to have my son again, safe!’’ 

“We’ll do our best, Mr. Goddard,’’ McCarty rose. 
“If we’ve no news for you by morning can we have a 
word with Mrs. Goddard then ?" 

“Of course. I’d take you to her now, but the doctor 
has given her something to quiet her. The servants 
don’t know anything; I’ve questioned them till I’m hoarse 


118 


ANNIHILATION 


and been in touch with every one to whom Horry might 
have gone. For God’s sake, find my boy!” 

Young Trafford showed them out and McCarty 
glanced keenly into his pale, troubled face as he held the 
door open. He seemed on the point of speech but 
glanced back over his shoulder and then resolutely closed 
his lips. McCarty paused. 

“Before we come in the morning you’d do well to 
tell the lad’s father to come clean with us,” he admonished 
in a lowered tone. “ ’Tis not by keeping anything back 
that he’ll help!” 

Trafford started. 

“Do you think he is?” he countered quickly. “I’ve 
told you all I know, at any rate, but let me hear if there’s 
anything more I can do. I’ll sit up all night by the 
telephone.” 

“Where are we going now ?” Dennis asked as his com¬ 
panion turned toward the east gate. “ ’Twas to find 
who killed Hughes that the inspector made deputies of us, 
not to be chasing runaway kids, but I’m trailing right 
with you.” 

“'Runaway,’ is it? I thought that was your hunch 
when you asked what pocket money the lad had and then 
described him with more truth than politeness!” McCarty 
chuckled. “You think he’s gone to join this artist fellow 
Blaisdell? ’Twill be easy to settle that when we find out 
where that tour was to commence, for Horace could not 
have gone far on six seventy-five.” 

“And we know how he got out all right,” Dennis sup¬ 
plemented. “ ’Twas by that east gate ahead when Bill 
left it open so convenient!—Look at Orbit’s house! Do 
you suppose his afternoon party is lasting on through 
the night?” 


IN THIN AIR 


119 


The awning and carpet were still stretched from the 
entrance door to curb, and, seemingly borne upon the sub¬ 
dued radiance of the glow which filtered through the 
curtained windows of the conservatory, there came to 
them faintly the strains of the organ. It was no majestic 
harmony this time, however, but a simple, insistently re¬ 
petitive measure. McCarty paused to listen, shaking his 
head. 

“Orbit’s by himself and just kind of thinking through 
the organ; can’t you tell, the way he’s just wandering 
along, amusing himself? That’s an easy little tune, too, 
that would stick in your head.—Come on. I’ve a notion 
to see part of this Mall we’ve not thought to examine yet.” 

“If there’s a foot of it we’ve not been over, barring the 
insides of the other houses—!” began Dennis in obvious 
disappointment. “I thought we’d be getting after who¬ 
ever takes care of Blaisdell’s place to find where he’s 
gone—” 

“At this time of night?” snorted McCarty. “Has it 
come to you that Goddard may not be so far wrong at 
that, especially if he’s got some reason he hasn’t told for 
thinking the lad was stolen? I’m beginning to see the 
practical workings of those books of mine you turn your 
nose up at and I ask you, did Horace look to have nerve 
enought to run away? If he went outside these gates 
it was of his own free will, of course, and during the time 
Bill left the one of them open, but what if he’d been paid 
to do it? What if the lad had been decoyed outside? 
How do we know there’s not others on the block con¬ 
cerned in it?” 

“‘Others on the block!’” repeated Dennis, stopping 
short as they passed the dark Bellamy house. “Mac! 
You’re not thinking there could be any connection be- 


120 


ANNIHILATION 


tween what happened to Hughes four days ago and the 
Goddard kid’s disappearance! You’re not looking to 
have him found dead somewhere, poisoned! Glory be! 
What’s come to this street all of a sudden?” 

“I’m asking myself that,” returned the other grimly. 
“I’m going no further in my mind, though, just saying 
it looks funny, that’s all. Here’s a handful of rich 
families living behind their gates in peace and seclusion 
for generations, with nothing ever happening except 
maybe a funeral now and then, for they could not shut 
out death. Then a murder takes place right in their 
midst, even if the victim did go far before he dropped in 
his tracks, and while there’s still no answer to it some¬ 
body in the next house disappears.” 

“So that’s why you hinted at notoriety, if Goddard 
took the case to headquarters instead of leaving it to us! 
We’re still on the Hughes affair after all!” exclaimed 
Dennis, adding: “What’s down here?” 

McCarty had turned down the black passage or court 
between Mrs. Bellamy’s and the closed Falkingham house 
next door on the east, and he vouchsafed no response to 
the companion who followed curiously at his heels until 
they had reached the rear of the boarded-up residence. 
Then he whispered cautiously: 

“Got your flashlight ?” 

For answer Dennis produced the pocket electric torch 
without which he seldom went on a nocturnal adventure 
with McCarty. The latter took it from him, and, press¬ 
ing the button, darted a minute but piercing ray of light 
along the rear of the houses whose front sidewalks they 
had just traversed. 

“See that, Denny?” he whispered. “An open court 
as clear as the palm of your hand straight past the Bel- 


IN THIN AIR 


121 


lamys’ and Orbit’s to Goddard’s on the corner. If the 
kid had wanted to get out without being seen he might 
have left the back of his house and come along this court 
to any of the passage-ways that lead out to. the sidewalk 
nearer the gate.” 

“True for you,” Dennis assented. “Turn the light 
along the back wall till we see how high it is, and whether 
there are any little doors in it or not.” 

But the wall, not of brick but of ancient brownstone, 
was as high as the city’s regulations permitted, bare save 
in the rear of Orbit’s miniature palace, where it was 
covered by a thick, impenetrable curtain of ivy, sable and 
glossy like black satin in the moving finger of light. 

All at once heavy footsteps pounded along the side¬ 
walk to the mouth of the passage-way they had just left 
and a brighter beam was trained suddenly upon them. 
Dennis dodged instinctively but McCarty turned and 
faced it, calling cautiously: 

“Is it you, Dave Hollis? We’ve not gone yet, just 
taking a look around.” 

They had encountered the night watchman when they 
let themselves in at the west gate earlier in response to 
Eustace Goddard’s summons, and now he merely grunted 
in acknowledgment and passed on. 

“There’s nothing more to be seen here,” Dennis re¬ 
marked. “No one could cross that wall without a ladder 
and though they might climb that ivy it could not be 
done carrying a boy the size of Horace.” 

“To say nothing of it being broad day and the back 
windows of all the houses in this row looking out at the 
performance,” McCarty interjected. “All the same we’ll 
stroll along to the Goddards’ kitchen door and back, 
Denny.” 


122 


ANNIHILATION 


The rear of Mrs. Bellamy’s mansion was as dark as the 
front and in Orbit’s also the lights had by now been ex¬ 
tinguished. In the dead stillness their stealthy footsteps 
seemed to ring unnaturally loudly to their own ears. 
Only in the Goddard house did the dull glow from roof 
to cellar gleam forth through shrouded windows like 
sleepless, anxious eyes. 

“ ’Tis almost unhealthy, the cleanness of everything!” 
Dennis looked about him as the flashlight circled over the 
spacious, immaculate court. “Not an ashcan nor so 
much as a garbage pail that a cat could hide behind! 
We’re wasting our time here, Mac!” 

But McCarty did not answer. He had gone halfway 
down the tradesmen’s passage leading to the sidewalk and 
paused before a door in the side wall of the Goddard 
house. Dennis saw the light play in narrowing arcs over 
the paved ground before it and then settle to a mere pin¬ 
point as McCarty stooped. After a moment he straight¬ 
ened and came swiftly back, cat-footed despite his bulk. 
He was holding out some small object in his extended 
hand and as he reached his companion’s side he played 
the light upon it—a small, plain platinum watch, crushed 
beyond repair, on a pathetically short leather wristband. 


CHAPTER X 


THE MAN IN THE SHADOWS 

Hr'HE cold, early light of a clouded morning found Mc- 
■*" Carty and Dennis seated over pancakes and coffee 
in an all-night restaurant on Sixth Avenue not far from 
Fiftieth Street. The intervening hours since they left 
the New Queen’s Mall had been fruitlessly spent in a 
weary round of the ferries and railroad terminals in 
search of news of a small, solitary traveler and now they 
had just come from an interview with the superintendent 
of the palatial studio apartment building in which the 
artist Blaisdell resided, whose exact address a nearby 
druggist had been fortuitously able to supply. 

“I always thought those painter guys lived in garrets 
with never a square meal nor a second shirt,” Dennis 
spoke in a slightly dazed tone. “I mind that day watch¬ 
man Bill said young Horace told him Blaisdell was one 
of the greatest in the country, but he must have some 
regular business to be able to live in a place like that! 
There’s one thing sure; no matter how much of a fancy 
he’d took to the kid he could afford to get into no trouble 
by taking him on a tour without his father and mother be¬ 
ing willing, and if the boy showed up he’d bring him 
back. Where is it again that he’s gone sketching?” 

“Up in the She-wan-gunk Mountains,” McCarty pro¬ 
nounced the name with painstaking care. “Ellenville 
is his headquarters, the superintendent said, if you re- 
123 


124 


ANNIHILATION 


member; the Detweiler House. Granting there was a 
train, and the lad had more money with him than that 
four-eyed tutor suspected, he could have got there by 
early evening, but no word of any kind had come when I 
’phoned the Goddard house an hour ago.” 

“I know,” Dennis drained his cup and held it out to 
the sleepy waiter to be refilled. “ ’Tis too bad you did 
not tell Trafford about finding the watch.” 

“And send him into hysterics ? He’s as bad as a woman 
now!” McCarty shrugged. “The doctor give orders 
Mrs. Goddard wasn’t to be woke up till eight but we’ll 
chance it by seven. How do you feel, Denny?” 

Dennis eyed the questioner with swift suspicion. 

“There’s nothing the matter with me that I know of!” 

“ ’Tis a pity!” McCarty commented callously. “I was 
thinking if you called up the lieutenant at the engine house 
and told him how sick you were he’d maybe let you off 
duty the day. There’s a ’phone over on the cigar coun¬ 
ter.” 

“And what’s ailing me ?” Dennis’ eyes sparkled but his 
tone was flat for his inventive faculties were at low ebb in 
the early morning. 

“From what I’ve learned lately, Denny, about mental 
defectives—!” 

But Dennis had risen and stalking to the counter he 
took up the ’phone. Presently McCarty heard his voice 
raised in a harrowing description of pain but it was 
abruptly cut short, and, after listening for a moment with 
a dazed look on his face, he silently replaced the receiver 
and returned to his chair. 

“Well?” demanded McCarty expectantly. 

“Mike’s out of the hospital and he’ll take my nine-to-six 
shift.” 


THE MAN IN THE SHADOWS 125 


“But just what did the lieutenant say to you?” 

“He told me,” Dennis replied very slowly and distinctly, 
“to get the hell off the ’phone, for I’d be no good at a 
false alarm while my crook-chasing side-kick McCarty 
was on the job again. I gathered from a few more re¬ 
marks before he hung up on me that your friend Jimmie 
Ballard of the ‘Bulletin’ has been nosing around the en¬ 
gine house, to get dope from me about what you’re pull¬ 
ing off, and by that same token running the lieutenant 
ragged; ’tis what I get for associating with you.” 

It was McCarty’s turn to eye his companion sus¬ 
piciously but Dennis’ stolid countenance was quite de¬ 
void of humor and he retorted: 

“Is that so? Well, we’d better be associating ourselves 
with the Goddards again now or there’ll be no news for 
Jimmie or the inspector either, which is worse. Come 
on. 

“Unless the boy is found as Hughes was,” Dennis sug¬ 
gested optimistically. “It would let the Lindholms out,, 
but who except a lunatic would be poisoning children and 
servants, premiscuous-like ?” 

McCarty’s reply was a stare and a grunt which the 
other construed as derisive and he lapsed into aggrieved 
silence as they made their way once more to the gates, 
behind which so much mystery and menace brooded. 

Trafford opened the door almost before the bell had 
ceased to echo through the house and his haggard face 
was mute evidence that the suspense had not been lifted. 

“Have you—?” He could not voice the rest of the 
question but McCarty replied briskly: 

“We’ve several possibilities, Trafford, and we’re follow¬ 
ing every last one of ’em up. No news is good news just 
now. Is Mrs. Goddard awake yet, do you know?” 


126 


ANNIHILATION 


‘Her maid told me when I inquired a few minutes 
ago that she was stirring. I’ll go and see.” The young 
tutor turned dispiritedly away. “You’ll find Mr. God¬ 
dard in the smoking-room at the rear on the Avenue side.” 

In dimensions and ponderous style of furnishing the 
smoking-room resembled a club lounge rather than a 
private apartment and it was a full minute before they 
descried Eustace Goddard’s rotund figure relaxed in the 
depths of a huge leather armchair. He was apparently 
asleep but on their approach he opened widely staring 
eyes upon them and sprang up with an inarticulate cry. 

“We’ve not located your son yet, Mr. Goddard,” Mc¬ 
Carty spoke quickly before the father could frame words. 
“We know what every minute means to you and ’tis for 
that we’re going to bring the inspector and some of his 
other men into it. I can promise you there’ll be no pub¬ 
licity through us.” 

“By God, McCarty, they can blazon it in every paper in 
the land if it will bring our boy back to us!” Goddard 
cried brokenly. “The horror of this night has made 
everything else unimportant! You mean you—you’ve 
failed?” 

“Not exactly, sir, but there are only the two of us 
now and ’twill save time if others take up some of the 
clues we’ve got,” McCarty explained 

“There’s the telephone,” Goddard waved a shaking 
hand toward a stand half concealed behind a lacquered 
screen. “Get the whole department if you need it. I’ll 
offer any reward you suggest—fifty thousand? A 
hundred ?” 

“We’ll settle that when the inspector comes.” McCarty 
moved to the screen and took up the receiver, and Den¬ 
nis cleared his throat. 


THE MAN IN THE SHADOWS 127 


“How many doors are there to this house ?” 

“Four!” Goddard replied in a surprised tone. “The 
one at the front, two at the rear—kitchen and tradesmen’s 
entrances—and a smaller door at the side opening on 
the court that runs between this house and Orbit’s. But 
why do you ask ? What are the clues you’ve found ?” 

Dennis coughed discreetly, and from behind the screen 
came McCarty’s voice. 

“Is it yourself, Inspector? . . . Yes, me, McCarty. 
. . . No, at Goddard’s and you’re needed. . . . Wait a 
bit! Can you lay hands on both Martin and Yost? . . . 
Can’t talk now, sir. Get me ? . . . All right, bring Mar¬ 
tin along but send Yost over to—to Bill, 0565. . . . 
That’s it . . . Maybe and maybe not . . . Sure, I’ve 
been in touch with Bill and he knows the party I’m look¬ 
ing for. Tell Yost to wait and ’phone here if anything 
turns up . . . Of course not, Inspector, till you take it 
in hand! ’By.” 

The last had been straight blarney, but Dennis shivered 
as the receiver clicked on its hook. Well he knew that 
telephone number and the grim little house far over to¬ 
ward the river where, for a brief interval, the bluff, kindly 
Bill harbored the city’s unknown dead! Had the sickly 
little Goddard heir gone the way of Hughes after all ? 

“Why did you ask about the doors?” The conver¬ 
sation had evidently held only its obvious meaning for the 
man before them. “Horace must have been induced in 
some way to leave the house, for no one could have en¬ 
tered with Trafford and all the servants about!” 

“He did leave, and by the side door,” McCarty held 
out the shattered little wristwatch. “Does this belong 
to the lad ?” 

“Good God, yes! He wore it yesterday!” Goddard 


128 


ANNIHILATION 


seized it and then sank into his chair. “It’s—smashed! 
He must have been handled brutally perhaps even—!” 

“That don’t follow, sir!” McCarty interrupted. “The 
strap slips out of the buckle easy, for I tried it, and the 
lad might have dropped it without noticing. Anybody 
going to one of the back doors could have come along and 
trod on it after, for ’twas in the alley right in front of the 
door that I found it. And now—” 

“Mrs. Goddard is awake and ready to see you now,” 
Trafford’s voice sounded from the threshold and God¬ 
dard started up once more. 

“She knows there is no news?” he asked, and at the 
tutor’s nod added: “Come then, but don’t tax her be¬ 
yond her strength and don’t mind any—any wild state¬ 
ments which she may make. My poor wife is almost out 
of her mind!” 

“Of course; we understand,” McCarty darted a quick 
glance at Dennis and then turned to the tutor. “Traf- 
ford, Inspector Druet and another man are on their way 
up from headquarters and you’ll be helping matters if 
you tell the both of them! what’s happened and pll about 
them you ’phoned to for trace of the lad.” 

In silence they followed Goddard to the tiny jewel-box 
of an elevator, whose velvet and gold and glittering crystal 
mirrors made Dennis gasp. He gasped again when their 
guide pressed a button and they shot abruptly upward and 
his weatherbeaten face turned a delicate green as they 
stopped with a smooth but sickening swoop at the second 
floor. He was the first out with the opening of the 
door, but there was no time for the aside which trembled 
on his lips, for Goddard led the way down the wide hall to 
the doorway in which the figure of an elderly maid was 
silhouetted against the dim light of the room within. 


THE MAN IN THE SHADOWS 129 


“Eustace !” A woman’s trembling voice sounded from 
behind her. “It can’t be that nothing is known, noth¬ 
ing! Did you tell them about that—” 

“Everything is being done, Clara.” Goddard motioned 
the maid aside and McCarty and Dennis followed him 
into the dressing-room. They received only a confused 
impression of mahogany and old-rose and tall mirrors, 
of a faint, aromatic perfume and the sound of deep- 
drawn, convulsive breathing. The next moment their 
eyes were caught and held by the long figure outstretched 
upon a chaise-longue, imposing even in the dishevelled 
abandonment of grief. Mrs. Goddard was a woman well 
over forty, but her distraught face still bore traces of the 
beauty which must normally have been hers. There was 
no touch of gray in the masses of luxuriant dark hair 
which the maid had arranged with evident haste, but that 
night had etched lines about the fine eyes and the firm 
though sensitive mouth that would never be erased. 

As her husband went on speaking, her glance swept 
past him to the two who waited at his elbow. 

“Everything that is humanly possible is being done,, 
my dear!” Goddard repeated more emphatically. “These 
are the police officers I called in, and they want to ask you 
a few questions. Do you think you can collect yourself 
enough to stick to facts and not foolish, morbid fancies?” 

“I am quite collected, Eustace!” There was a note al¬ 
most of defiance in Mrs. Goddard’s tones and she sat up 
among her pillows with an unconscious dignity, in spite 
of the emotion which she held in check with such obvious 
effort. “Ask me anything you please! I—I only want 
my baby safe once more!” 

“Of course, ma’am,” McCarty responded soothingly. 
“You went out and left the lad on the couch in the library 


130 


ANNIHILATION 


and when you came back to get ready for the musicale 
next door you thought he was with his teacher. Now, 
what was the first you knew of his disappearance ?” 

“When I returned from the musicale. It was late, 
after six, and my husband met me in the hall with the 
news. He and Mr. Trafford had been telephoning every¬ 
where ! They thought Horace might have gone to some 
of our friends, but he had never done such a thing as to 
leave the Mall without our knowledge and I knew that 
something terrible had happened. I could feel it—here!” 
Her slender, very white hands flew to her breast. “I can¬ 
not blame Mr. Trafford for not starting the search for 
Horace in the early afternoon; he supposed he had slipped 
away to the studio of an artist who has taken a great 
fancy to our little boy, but Mr. Blaisdell is not in 
town/’ 

The forced composure still held her and only her flut¬ 
tering hands and quick-drawn breath gave evidence of her 
supreme agitation. 

“You don’t think the lad has gone to join him, do you?” 
McCarty asked. 

“Run away, you mean?” Mrs. Goddard shook her 
head slowly. “Oh, no! Horace would never dream of 
such a thing! Mr. Blaisdell wanted to take him but we 
would not hear of it and Horace had no idea of disobey¬ 
ing our wishes. He has never been away from, us before 
—before yesterday!” 

“Then you think he has been kidnapped?” 

At the question Goddard, who had moved around to 
the other side of the couch, took a step forward, the sag¬ 
ging muscles of his round face tightening as his jaw 
tensed but his wife did not take her eyes from those of 
McCarty. 


THE MAN IN THE SHADOWS 131 


“He isn’t here!” her trembling voice broke. “He 
wouldn’t run away! The earth didn’t open and—and an 
avalanche descend upon him! It must have been that 
man!” 

“What man!” McCarty and Dennis spoke in chorus, 
and then Goddard placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder. 

“Now, Clara!” he admonished. “You promised—!” 

“To give us facts, Mr. Goddard!” interrupted McCarty 
sternly. “If Mrs. Goddard can tell us whatever it was 
you were holding back last night so much the better! 
You ’phoned to me that the lad had been kidnapped but 
you couldn’t give me any reason for thinking so except 
that he was gone, and you didn’t breathe a word about any 
‘man’!—Will you tell us, ma’am?” 

“There’s nothing to tell!” Goddard insisted obstinately. 
“My wife is nervous, imaginative, and so is Horace. He 
was badly frightened by a strange man here in the Mall 
a short time ago and his mother was quite frantic about 
it. It was some days before she would allow him to go 
out alone again, but personally I think he exaggerated—” 

“Our boy would not tell a falsehood!” Mrs. Goddard 
interrupted. “It was just at dusk one afternoon about a 
fortnight ago, or perhaps less, when Horace had returned 
alone from Mr. Blaisdell’s studio. He entered the Mall 
by the east gate as usual, but stopped to play with a little 
white Persian kitten, the pet of Mrs. Bellamy’s baby. 
Mrs. Bellamy lives just two doors away, next to Mr. Or¬ 
bit’s. The watchman had passed him and gone on toward 
the west gate when all at once the kitten darted across the 
street and Horace followed, afraid that it might become 
lost. It ran into the open court between the Parsons 
house and the closed one next door belonging to the 
Quentin estate and Horace was stooping to coax it to 


132 ANNIHILATION 

him when he was seized from behind by a strange man 
and searched!” 

“Searched ?’ : ’ echoed McCarty. 

“Yes. The man pressed Horace back against him with 
one hand over his mouth and felt in all his pockets with 
the other, but he took nothing and never uttered a word! 
My little son was too startled to struggle at first, and all 
at once the man released him—and disappeared!” 

“Did the boy have any money with him?” Dennis 
could contain himself no longer. 

“Three or four dollars, I believe, but the man left it 
untouched.” Mrs. Goddard’s eyes shifted to those of 
the questioner. “It was quite dark there in that narrow 
space between the two> houses, but Horace saw the face 
which bent down over his distinctly and he said the man 
was an utter stranger whom he had never seen in the Mall 
before; rough, unshaven and desperate looking!” 

“Which way did he go?” McCarty took up the inter¬ 
rogation once more. “Was it down the alley to the street 
or up in the open court behind the houses ?” 

“How could the child tell?” Goddard interjected before 
his wife could speak. “It was almost dark and he was 
terror-stricken!” 

“Horace told us that the man ran toward the rear and 
disappeared in the shadows of a doorway at—at the left,” 
Mrs. Goddard replied, as though her husband had not 
spoken. 

“At the left, facing the rear of the houses on the north 
side of the way?” McCarty was thinking rapidly aloud. 
“That’ll be Parsons’ house then!—Why didn’t you want 
us to know this, Mr. Goddard?” 

“Because it can have no possible bearing on the disap¬ 
pearance of our son yesterday!” Goddard retorted hotly. 


THE MAN IN THE SHADOWS 133 


“He ran home immediately and told us, and I instituted 
a thorough search without delay, but the watchman could 
find no trace of the fellow and insisted he had admitted no 
one that day through either gate who resembled Horace’s 
description. The Parsons’ servants had seen nothing of 
him and he has not reappeared since, although a strict 
watch was kept. It is madness to suppose that Horace 
left this house of his own accord to meet the fellow, when 
he stood in mortal terror of him—!” 

“Not unless he met him accidental-like and got way¬ 
laid a second time!” Dennis broke in irrepressibly. 
“There’s no telling what he was after if ’twas not money, 
but if he was crazy and the boy put up a bit of a strug¬ 
gle-!” 

“A-a-ah!” Mrs. Goddard’s taut nerves gave way and 
she broke into a low, wailing cry. “That is my fear! 
No sane person would harm him; but all night long in 
horrible dreams I have seen him—! My baby! He is 
hidden somewhere, helpless, suffering, and I cannot reach 
him! I shall go mad!” 


CHAPTER XI 


THE CLOSED HOUSE 

^ A FINE mess you made of that!” McCarty remarked 
disgustedly when the door of Mrs. Goddard’s 
dressing-room had closed behind them, shutting in her 
husband and the maid. “Just when we were on the point 
of getting at the truth, too!” 

“Truth, is it?” Dennis retorted. “I suppose you mean 
you’d have been finding out what the crazy guy expected 
to find in the boy’s pockets!” 

“No, I know that already!” McCarty emitted a grimi 
chuckle. “ ’Twill keep, though, for we’ve got quick 
work ahead of us now and the inspector must have been 
waiting this long while.” 

“You can shoot yourself down in that birdcage if 
you’ve a mind to, but my own legs will carry me!” Dennis 
eyed the elevator door, cunningly concealed in the high 
oak paneling of the hall, with a hostile glare. Then he 
added sarcastically: “I’ve no doubt but that, by the new 
book learning you’ve got lately, you know who the guy 
was, too, and where he came from and how he got out, 
through solid walls and barred gates! Education is a 
grand thing, but where is Horace? Answer me that!” 

“If we’re not able to answer that soon, Denny, I’m 
thinking it would be best left unanswered forever, for the 
sake of that woman back there.” McCarty spoke with 
deep earnestness, “There’s a feeling in me that we’ve 
134 


THE CLOSED HOUSE 


135 


something working against us more than human, some¬ 
thing worse than lightning or the plague, even! If we 
could only see our way clear to the black heart of it!” 

They went down the stairs together, to find the inspec¬ 
tor and Martin awaiting them with Trafford, who ap¬ 
peared crushed from the gruelling half hour through 
which he had passed. 

McCarty addressed him first, with a mere nod to his 
superior. 

“Trafford, why didn’t you tell me about the man who> 
grabbed the lad in the alley not two weeks ago?” 

“Mr. Goddard forbade me,” the wretched young man 
stammered, then drew himself up with a vain assump¬ 
tion of dignity. “Since it has nothing to do with the 
case—” 

“We’re the best judges of that!” McCarty waved him 
away peremptorily. “Tell Mr. Goddard we’ll see him 
later. . . . Now, inspector, before we talk, if you’ll fol¬ 
low a suggestion of mine just once more, there’s a train 
Martin will be after catching and he’ll have to hustle to 
do it.” 

The inspector eyed him keenly for a moment and then 
nodded. 

“Go to it,” he said briefly. “Get the instructions, 
Martin.” 

McCarty drew the young operative aside and after a 
brief interchange of words the latter took his departure. 
Then the inspector motioned the other two into the library 
and closed the door. 

“Now I want an explanation of this!” he announced, 
in a tone which took McCarty swiftly back to the old 
days. “Why didn’t you report to me at once when you 
learned what had happened? What have you two been 


136 


ANNIHILATION 


doing since? I made you deputies, but by the Lord I 
didn’t appoint you chiefs!” 

McCarty told him in detail of their activities during 
the night and added frankly: 

“I didn’t report, inspector, because I wanted a few 
hours’ the start of you, and that’s the truth. So far, I’ve 
only done what I think you would have, yourself, but 
I’m working from an angle of my own that you’d not 
have taken. I’ve sent Martin just now to Ellenville, to 
find out if this Blaisdell has heard anything of the lad, 
but that’s only routine; the real job is here in the Mall, 
even if Horace turns up dead or alive somewhere else.” 

“What’s this angle of yours on the case?” the inspector 
demanded curtly. “What did Goddard forbid that tutor 
mentioning and why?” 

McCarty described the interview with Mrs. Goddard 
and the inspector listened attentively, asking when he had 
finished: 

“What do you propose to do? Put the screws on God¬ 
dard to find out why he kept that back? He can’t be a 
party to the kidnapping of his own son!” 

“No, but he thinks he knows who the fellow was, and 
that he’ll hear from him or them back of him soon with 
a view to ransom; he’s ready to offer fifty or a hundred 
thousand reward, whenever you give the word. Until 
he does hear from him, though, he can’t be sure what 
happened to the lad and that’s why he’s anxious. His 
wife don’t know anything about this private opinion of 
his, of course, and naturally she’s half-crazed,” McCarty 
summed up as though his process of deduction was equally 
clear to his two companions. “We’ll leave him worry 
awhile, for ’tis my opinion he’s mistaken entirely. I want 
a look now inside that empty house next to the Parsons’ 


THE CLOSED HOUSE 


137 


across the street and there’s no time to wait for red tape 
to get permission.” 

“The Quentin house, that’s been closed all these years?” 
The inspector looked fixedly at him and Dennis gaped. 
“You think the fellow might have hidden there after let¬ 
ting the little boy go? Come on, we’ll take a chance.” 

A huge dark blue limousine of impressive aspect was 
just drawing up before Number Seven as they emerged 
from the Goddard house and crossed the street. At sight 
of the distinguished, gray-bearded man who alighted and 
went up the steps the inspector halted with an exclama¬ 
tion. 

“Do you know who that is, Mac ? The ambassador to 
whom the mayor gave the keys of the city only yesterday 
down at City Hall! If he comes himself to call on the 
Parsons family they’re of more importance even than I 
thought!” 

“And ’tis small wonder they don’t bother to associate 
with the rest on the block, millionaires or no,” McCarty 
commented, eyeing the equipage with vast respect as they 
passed. “You said the old gentleman was—?” 

He paused suddenly and Dennis’ eyes followed his to 
the great entrance doors which were closing slowly be¬ 
hind the aristocratic back of the ambassador. There was 
just a glimpse of a thin, sallow-faced man-servant in 
black, who appeared to sweep the trio with a curiously 
penetrating gaze and then the scene was shut out. 

McCarty seemed to have lost interest in the question he 
was about to ask and they went on in silence to the nar¬ 
row, paved court between the Parsons residence and the 
vast, rambling pile of brownstone next door. 

“Let’s go up here and see if the rear is open for the 
length of the block, the way it is on the other side of the 


138 


ANNIHILATION 


street,” McCarty suggested. “There’s Parsons’ side door, 
the one Horace said the man disappeared into; it’s pretty 
deep, you see, deep enough for him to have just stepped 
into the embrasure and been hid in the shadows of late 
afternoon without actually going through the door itself, 
though I don’t say he didn’t, at that!” 

“ ’Tis likely a nut that’d go around grabbing children 
and searching their pockets would be let into the Par¬ 
sons’ !” Dennis exclaimed in fine scorn. “Unless the boy 
made the whole thing up for a sensation, the way some 
kids do, how’d the man get in and out of the block ? The 
house on this side looks to be boarded up, as tight as 
a drum.” 

They reached the rear and found the open court which 
extended along behind the houses, to be even wider than 
that on the south side of the street, the back wall higher 
and devoid of a single vineJ The silent Quentin house 
presented as blank an aspect as from the front, its sealed 
windows and barred doors staring like blind eyes in the 
sunlight. The inspector shook his head. 

“No one has entered here in months; years maybe,” he 
remarked. “The padlocks are so rusted on those board 
doors that they would have to be broken and the boards 
themselves are weatherbeaten and rotting. Pm surprised 
they’d let the place get into such a condition, even though 
it is in litigation. . . . What are you doing, Riordan?” 

The house, being the corner one, was built around in 
an ell on the Madison Avenue side and in the right angle 
formed by its two walls a leader descended from the roof. 
Dennis was examining and testing it speculatively. At 
the inspector’s question he turned. 

“Do you mind, sir, ’twas a wide shiny mark burnished 
on a pipe running across the top of an air-shaft that 


THE CLOSED HOUSE 


139 


showed Mac and me how a murderer had swung himself 
down on a rope and in at a window, in the first case ever 
he butted in on after he left the Force?” he asked. 
“This rain-pipe looks to be too frail to bear the weight of 
a cat, but ’tis not a cat rubbed the rust off here, and here, 
so it shines like new tin! I put on a clean shirt yester¬ 
day, more's the pity, but hold my coat and hat, Mac.” 

“Mind or you’ll break your neck!” McCarty warned, 
forgetful of his friend’s calling, as he complied. Dennis 
scorned to reply but swarmed up the straining, creaking 
leader to the second floor, swinging out to land lightly 
and sure-footedly on the broad sill of a window two feet 
away. The leader, released suddenly from his weight, 
tore loose from its fastening and canted crazily against 
the angle of the wall, shaking and clattering, and Mc¬ 
Carty exclaimed: 

“You’ll not be coming down the way you went up!” 

“True for you!” Dennis sang out with a note of rising 
excitement. “I’ll be coming down the way the last guy 
did who lit here, and that’s by the inside! Wait you there 
for me.” 

He had been examining the sill upon which he stood 
and the boards which covered the window, pressing ex¬ 
perimentally upon the latter. Suddenly one of them gave 
way, forced inward with an accompanying crash of glass. 

“Now you’ve done it!” McCarty observed superflu¬ 
ously. “Look out there is not more than us waiting for 
you inside!” 

“I’ve my flashlight, thanks be, and my two fists,” 
Dennis responded. “That board wasn’t tight; the nails 
had just been stuck back in the holes. Here goes an¬ 
other !” 

With the rending of wood the second followed the first 


140 


ANNIHILATION 


and with a third which he wrenched loose Dennis smashed 
in the fragments of glass which still clung to the sash, 
then wriggled lithely through the aperture and disap¬ 
peared. McCarty drew a long breath and turned to his 
former superior. 

“I'd like to be following him,” he said wistfully. “If 
so be some guy is hiding in there—the same one that 
grabbed the lad—he’ll be desperate enough to kill, and 
Denny’s too slow-thinking and slow-moving to take care 
of himself! I’m heftier than him and ’tis long since I 
did any shinnying, but maybe that pipe would hold me 
after all!” 

“A man with four medals from the fire department for 
meritorious conduct and conspicuous bravery doesn’t need 
a nursemaid, Mac!” the inspector responded with a laugh. 
“Personally, I don’t believe any one’s been in there for 
months before him but—what’s that?” 

That was a sudden subdued commotion within, a 
long-sustained clatter followed by a reverberating thud 
and then a silence ominous in its intensity. 

“I knew it!” McCarty dropped the hat and coat and 
made for the wooden barrier that sealed the main back 
door. “I’m going in if I break the whole damn’ place 
down! Denny! Denny! I’m coming!” 

His reassuring roar was lost in the mighty smash of his 
fist on the rotting boards but after the first blow the in¬ 
spector reached him and dragged him back. 

“Have you taken leave of your senses ?” the latter de¬ 
manded. “You’ll have the whole block aroused to find us 
breaking and entering! Riordan’s all right!—There, I 
hear somebody moving about inside. Listen!” 

McCarty waited, panting and tense, and faintly there 
came to his ears the sound as of stumbling footsteps 


THE CLOSED HOUSE 


141 


within and a scratching noise from a window at the left 
of the door which, being protected by an iron grill-work, 
had been left unboarded. A heavy green shade hung 
close against the inner side of the dirty windowpane, 
furrowed by many past rainstorms, and the stout bars 
seemed at a glance to be firmly imbedded in the broad 
stone sill but McCarty strode to them and began trying 
them one by one, while behind him the inspector drew his 
revolver and stood expectant. 

“Look here, sir!” McCarty whispered. “ ’Tis fine 
burglar protection they’ve got in these houses! See how 
this bar slides up into its groove in the top of the case¬ 
ment, till you can pull it out below and down over the sill 
entirely? I’ll bet the next will work the same.—It does! 
If we’d taken the trouble to find this out at first—! Glory 
be, here’s Denny himself!” 

The green shade had flown up and the face of Dennis 
appeared in a sickly yellow aura cast by his flashlight, but 
he promptly extinguished it and set to work on the catch 
of the window. As McCarty removed the fourth bar 
the sash opened upward and the two, who had meanwhile 
been exchanging grimaces pregnant with meaning gazed 
silently at each other for a full minute. Then McCarty 
found his voice. 

“Where is he!” he demanded. “What did you do with 
him ? We heard the row out here—!” 

“There wasn’t any ‘him,’ ” Dennis interrupted sheep¬ 
ishly. “It was me, by myself. I came on the stairs un¬ 
expected-like and took the whole flight of them without 
even breaking my flashlight!—But come in, the both of 
you, and see what I found!” 

McCarty scrambled over the sill and Inspector Druet, 
despite his added years, followed with the effortless ease 


142 


ANNIHILATION 


of a boy. They found themselves in a large room bare 
of furniture but in the dust which lay like a heavy carpet 
upon the floor a meandering trail of footsteps, many times 
traversed, ran from the window by which they had en¬ 
tered to a connecting door opening into a laundry. Dusty 
finger-marks, with here and there the imprint of a whole 
hand, were plainly outlined on the white woodwork of the 
inner sill and below it greasy pieces of wrapping paper 
were scattered. In a corner two pitchers and several 
small tin cans were heaped. 

“Some one has been camping out here, that’s evident,” 
the inspector remarked. “Getting his food handed in to 
him through that window, too!” 

“And it wasn’t any ordinary bought stuff, the kind that 
comes ready fixed in stores.” McCarty was poking about 
in the papers. “Here’s the carcass of a whole chicken, 
pieces of fancy rolls and pastry and other stuff, but it’s all 
stale; it’s been here for four or five days, at least.” 

“And there’s traces of coffee in those pitchers and cans, 
to say nothing of the wine bottles on that shelf!” Dennis 
pointed impatiently. “He’s been living on the fat of the 
land from one of the houses in this row and the nearer 
the likelier, even if it does happen to be occupied by the 
Parsons! Come upstairs till I show you more.” 

The larger adjoining room had evidently been the 
laundry, for rows of enameled tubs and washing machines 
were ranged against the wall and dryers stood about, but 
all were covered with a thick blanket of dust. Dennis led 
the way through a series of kitchen^ and pantries, far 
more elaborate than those they had encountered in Orbit’s 
house, to the back stairs and up to the second floor rear, 
into the room with the broken window. All the way they 
had followed that zigzag trail of overlapping footsteps 


THE CLOSED HOUSE 


143 


and here the floor was crossed and recrossed by a network 
of them. This apartment had evidently been one of the 
master bedrooms, for a well-appointed, marble-lined bath 
opened from it and heavy, old-fashioned furniture of 
richly carved mahogany was ranged with stiff precision 
about the room. A half-burned candle, shielded from the 
window by an old cardboard box-cover, stood on a side 
table together with a handful of matches and some 
cigarette stubs. McCarty pointed to it. 

“He couldn’t live without a light but he hid it from 
the window and he* didn’t dare carry it when he went 
down to get his food; that’s why those footprints ramble 
so, he was feeling his way in the dark. That bed looks 
as if it had been slept in, with all those old draperies 
piled on it, and what’s in that big pitcher on the bureau?” 

“Water,” Dennis replied. “There’s still a little left, 
though you can see from the marks on the inside where 
it has dried down.” 

“Evaporated?” The inspector nodded. “That would 
show, too, that whoever the fellow was he hadn’t used 
any of it for a few days at least.—Hello, what’s this?” 

He had turned to the bathroom and after a moment he 
emerged from it holding a bright, new razor, a piece of 
soap and a very dirty Turkish towel. 

“The water has been turned off in the pipes of course, 
but there is an empty bucket in there in which some must 
have been brought to him, and he seems to have had some 
regard to his personal appearance, at least. The Goddard 
boy said the man who had tackled him was rough-look¬ 
ing and unshaved, didn’t he ?” 

“When he tackled him, yes,” McCarty replied. “He 
had chance enough to clean up after, as soon as whoever 
was helping him to hide here brought him the things.” 


144 


ANNIHILATION 


“He did more than that!” Dennis declared. There 
was an unwonted flush on his leathery cheeks and his gray 
eyes were alight with excitement. “Why do you suppose 
he was hiding here, anyway ? Why does anybody hide ? 
If ’tis not to do something unlawful, couldn’t he have 
broken the law already and be hiding from it?” 

“Denny!” McCarty breathed. “What are you getting 
at? You’ve found out something! Who is the man?” 

“Who’s wanted now, Inspector?” Dennis asked. 
“Somebody that’s gentleman enough to keep shaved and 
clean in spite of everything, who’d appreciate good food 
and wine and the best in life, and yet was a convicted 
criminal for all that!” 

“ 'Convicted—!’ ” McCarty started forward. “An ex¬ 
crook, do you mean? How did you guess—?” 

“‘Ex-crook,’ nothing!” retorted his confrere. “I’m 
not up in the latest of prison styles but if this ain’t a 
penitentiary get-up I’m an Orangeman !” 

He flung open a closet door behind him, dived in and 
dragged forth in triumph a tell-tale suit of stained and 
ragged gray. 

“Sing Sing!” exclaimed Inspector Druet. “Good 
Lord, Riordan, you’ve made a find!—Do you remember, 
Mac, that three men escaped last month ? One was killed 
making his getaway and another caught and transferred 
to Dannemora, but the third of those that crashed out 
then is still at large and there’s a big reward out! 
Heaven knows how he managed to get into the Mall and 
why he should have come here, of all places, but I’ll 
stake my life that the man who has been hiding in this 
house is George Radley!” 


CHAPTER XII 


THE BREATH OF DEATH 

“X\7 U0 is he?” asked Dennis, wide-eyed. “Who 
* * is this George Radley?” 

“You remember/ don’t you, Mac?” The inspector 
turned to the ex-roundsman. “Radley was a young 
chemiist—” 

“A chemist!” caroled McCarty and Dennis in unison. 
Then their mouths shut like traps and they stared at each 
other. 

“What’s got into you two?” Inspector Druet de¬ 
manded. “This Radley was accused, together with an 
accomplice, of sending poison to a mutual enemy, con¬ 
cealed in candy. An innocent member of the man’s 
household ate it and died, but the actual evidence against 
the accused was so weak that they could only be con¬ 
victed of manslaughter after two disagreements and then 
the accomplice only got two or three years and Radley 
ten. He’ll have several more to serve yet, however, 
even allowing for good behavior and then, too, a guard 
was seriously injured in trying to prevent that crush-out, 
so he’s wanted bad. He could never have got as far as 
the city in those clothes!” 

“He had others outside of ’em, either stole or slipped 
to him.” Dennis returned to the closet and produced a 
pair of dilapidated shoes, gray trousers and a long 
mackinaw, together with a soft Panama hat. “Only the 
145 


146 


ANNIHILATION 


shoes are ragged, you see; the rest is in pretty good con¬ 
dition and there’s an umbrella in a corner of the closet. 
He could have got past the watchman easy on a rainy 
night, especially if he said he was coming to see a maid, 
maybe, in one of the houses.—Still, that don’t account 
for his grabbing the Goddard kid, if ’twas him, and going 
through his pockets 1” 

“His clothes may be a find but we’ve not got himself 
yet. What if he’s hid under this roof now?” McCarty 
exclaimed. “He’d have no call to harm the Goddard lad 
unless Horace found out he was here and was going to 
give him away, but harm or no, if SO' he’s had no chance 
to escape—!” 

“You’re right, Mac!” The inspector dropped the 
clothes he had been examining and started for the door. 
“We’ll smoke him out!” 

But a painstaking search of the great house from attic 
to cellar failed to reveal any further trace of the refugee 
and they departed at last through the open window in 
the basement to round the comer into the court and 
come face to face with Bill Jennings. 

^ “Mr. Parsons’ butler next door sent me,” the watch¬ 
man explained. “He said somebody’d heard a noise in 
there and I’d better see about it. Nothing wrong I 
hope, inspector?” 

Open curiosity rang in his tones but the official replied 
bruskly: 

“Nothing. We’ll go over the other empty houses on 
the block later. It’s all right.” 

“What’s this we’ve been hearing about a strange man 
who scared the Goddard lad in this very court not two 
weeks ago?” McCarty asked as they approached the side¬ 
walk once more. 


THE BREATH OF DEATH 147 

Bill Jennings looked uncomfortable. 

“There was no strange man got between these gates 
while I was on!” he averred defensively. “It must have 
been some butler or houseman that works on the block, 
trying to play a joke on the little feller. It was a week 
ago Saturday that he raised the rumpus about it but 
there wasn’t any sign of the rough-looking kind of guy 
he described when Mr. Trafford and I looked, and we 
went over every foot of the courts. . . . There’s Mr. 
Orbit motioning.” 

It was to the inspector and his deputies, however, that 
Orbit beckoned and when they had crossed to him he 
asked with grave concern: 

“Is it true that Horace Goddard cannot be found? 
One of the maids from next door told Jean, and said 
that you had been notified, but I couldn’t believe it! 
Trafford came to my house yesterday afternoon, though, 
inquiring for him/—but I forgot, McCarty and Riordan 
were present. Is it possible that the little boy hasn’t 
been seen since?” 

“Not so far as we’ve been able to discover,” the in¬ 
spector responded. “It’s a pretty bad business. If he 
was a normal, healthy, mischievous kid we’d be apt to 
think he ran away, but from all accounts he was sickly 
and timid, not the kind to strike out for himself.” 

“Horace is very nervous and highly strung, with re¬ 
markable artistic possibilities,” Orbit observed thought¬ 
fully. “I’m immensely interested in him and my friend 
Blaisdell is of the opinion that he’ll become a great 
painter some day if his people don’t kill his aspirations 
by lack of sympathy; like a sensitive plant he needs en¬ 
couragement, nurturing.—But what can have happened 
to him? If he isn’t with friends or relatives the child 


148 ANNIHILATION 

must have met with an accident! Has an alarm been 
sent out?” 

“We’re trying every way to locate him. He used to 
run in and out of your house a lot, didn’t he? Did you 
ever hear him speak of any one he might have gone to 
now?” the inspector asked. “We know, of course, how 
disappointed he was when his father and mother wouldn’t 
let him go on a sketching tour with this Mr. Blaisdell 
you mention, but he seems to have got over it. Do you 
know if he had any boy friends his own age?” 

Orbit shook his head. 

“None. He is a solitary little chap, self-contained 
and retiring, and I don’t think he cares very much for 
the society of other boys. He would not have gone 
away and remained like this without a word if he was 
able to communicate with his family. It seems inex¬ 
plicable! Goddard must be dreadfully cut up about it, 
to say nothing of the boy’s mother, and I feel badly my¬ 
self ! I should hate to think of any accident happening 
to him! I’m going in to see Goddard and ask if there 
is anything I can do.—Meanwhile, you’ve no news for 
me about Hughes’ strange death, have you? It is odd 
that two such mysterious, unrelated incidents should have 
occurred in less than a week, even though Hughes must 
have taken the poison either accidentally or through some¬ 
one’s murderous intent, after he left the Mall that night. 
Haven’t you come upon the slightest indication?” 

“We’re working on several promising ones.” The 
time-worn formula was repeated a trifle wearily. “Let 
you know when there’s anything to give out, Mr. Or¬ 
bit. . . . Come on, Mac; it’s nearly noon.” 

Orbit turned toward the Goddard house but the others 
had scarcely gone a half dozen steps in the opposite direc- 


THE BREATH OF DEATH 149 


tion when again they were halted. This time it was by 
the pretty little French nurse and she drew the Bellamy 
baby closer, gazing at McCarty with wide, affrighted 
eyes as she voiced her question. 

“Pardon, monsieur, but is it of a truth, that which I 
have heard? Must it be that the little gargon of that 
house there is lost?” 

“That's about the size of it, ma’am,” McCarty re¬ 
moved his reblocked derby with a flourish. “I don’t 
suppose you saw him playing around anywheres yester¬ 
day afternoon ?” 

“But no!” She caught her breath with a slight gasp. 
“All the night he has been depart, alors! It is terrible, 
that! He is so gentil, so good, the little Horace! He 
would not run away—is it that he have been stole’ ? Me, 
I have fear for the little Maude—” 

She hugged her small charge tighter and the baby 
stared at them solemnly. 

“There ain’t much danger of that!” McCarty laughed 
reassuringly. “I guess the lad will turn up all right. 
When did you see him last?” 

“Yesterday morning, when he have passed with M’sieu 
Trafford. Oh, if he has been keednap’ we do not go 
beyond these gates!” 

She nodded and led the child away slowly while Den¬ 
nis remarked: 

“Pretty and a lady, but did ever you hear the like 
of such lingo? No wonder them French have a fit when 
they talk; ’tis from trying to understand each other.” 

McCarty darted a quick glance at the harassed frown 
on the inspector’s face, and then replied to his companion: 

“She had it straight, though. Horace has ‘been de¬ 
part’ all right, and if we don’t get him back soon there’ll 


150 


ANNIHILATION 


be a bigger howl than ever from the chief!—Isn't that 
what you're thinking, sir?" 

The inspector nodded gloomily. 

“I'm going to the agents in charge of these houses 
and get the keys.” He indicated the two closed resi¬ 
dences east of Mrs. Bellamy’s. “Try to get a line mean¬ 
while on who slipped food to the man hiding over there 
and what became of him and meet me here in an hour." 

“It’s not much he’s wanting," Dennis remarked, as 
the inspector left them abruptly and strode toward the 
gate. “Still, if we could trace what cellar them wine 
bottles came from that was stacked up on the shelf in 
that empty house—look! The ambassador’s limousine is 
going away." 

The impressive dark blue car was indeed moving slowly 
away from the curb in front of the Parsons house and 
the great front door closing. They caught another fleet¬ 
ing glimpse of the sallow-faced manservant and then Mc¬ 
Carty exclaimed: 

“Come on! I want a few words with the butler over 
there anyway, and maybe the old gentleman himself, 
and don’t be putting in your oar, Denny, and rocking 
the boat; I know what I’m after." 

Dennis followed in injured silence and they mounted 
the steps of the stately house and rang the bell. A 
lengthy pause ensued. McCarty was about to ring again 
when the door opened suddenly and the manservant 
whom they had seen a moment before stood confront¬ 
ing them. 

He paid no heed to Dennis but his dull, sunken eyes 
fastened themselves on McCarty and as he stared his 
sallow cheeks seemed to whiten. 

“Hello, Porter. You remember me, I see," the latter 


THE BREATH OF DEATH 151 


said briskly. “Me and my friend here want to have a 
little talk with you.” 

“My name is not Porter; it’s Roberts,” the man re¬ 
plied stiffly with an evident effort. “You’ve made a mis¬ 
take.” 

“Not me, my lad!” McCarty spoke with easy as¬ 
surance. “Inspector Druet got you too, the other day, 
but he didn’t bother you then because we didn’t know as 
much as we do now.” 

“By God, you’ll never frame me again!” The man 
shrank back and a harsh, grating note came into his low 
tones. “You haven’t got anything on me—!” 

“Haven’t, hey? How about the neighbor you’ve had 
next door for the past week or so?” McCarty inquired 
while Dennis held his breath. “Look here, Porter, I 
suppose you have been pretty well hounded and I don’t 
want to be hard on you but I’ml going to get the truth!” 

“ ‘Neighbor!’ ” The pseudo-Roberts moistened his dry 
lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—!” 

“Maybe Mr. Parsons does, then; we’ll see him.” Mc¬ 
Carty made as though to push his way past the cowering 
figure and the man threw out his hands. 

“For God’s sake don’t, just when he’s giving me the 
only square chance I’ve had!” It was more an agonized 
whisper than speech. “I’m Porter all right but he knows 
that! He knows I got railroaded and you bulls wouldn’t 
let me go straight afterwards; that’s why he took me in. 
I don’t know what you’re trying to hang on me now 
but you’re not going to drag him into it! What do you 
want of me?” 

McCarty glanced down the long hall which seemed al¬ 
most bare in its lofty austerity, in spite of the richness 
of the carved paneling and quaint old furniture. 


152 


ANNIHILATION 


“Take us some place where we can talk without any¬ 
body butting in,” McCarty suggested. “It’s for your 
own sake, man! If you’ll come clean—?” 

“I’ve heard that before!” Porter shrugged, with a 
shadow of a dreary smile. “Come along back to my 
pantry if you want to, but why don’t you take me right 
downtown now and be done with it? If you’re out to 
frame me, cut all the bluff!” 

“Did I ever?” demanded McCarty. “Did I ever try 
to send you or any other guy up unless I had the straight 
goods on them?” 

“I guess not, Mac. I haven’t got anything against 
you but I’ve had a rough deal; what’s come now is just 
the luck of the game, I suppose.” He closed the pantry 
door carefully behind them and motioning to chairs he 
leaned back against the table, gripping its edge with his 
thin hands. “What do you want to know? I’ll come 
clean all right—about myself.” 

McCarty noted the almost imperceptible pause and 
asked quickly: 

“How long have you been out this time?” 

“A year and a half. My lungs went back on me and 
I would have been a goner if I hadn’t got pardoned, but 
what good did it do me? Every time I got a job clerk¬ 
ing in a drug store one of the Narcotic Squad came along 
with my record and I was kicked out. My record— 
God! And I wasn’t guilty! I never knew my boss was 
crooked and in with the dope ring, making me the 
scapegoat!” His voice had roughened again with a 
sort of savage earnestness. “I was about at the end of 
my rope but the—the man who’d had me pardoned was 
keeping his eye on me all the time and saw how hard I’d 
tried and—and so Mr. Parsons took me on here to give 


THE BREATH OF DEATH 153 

me a breathing spell. Anything else—about me—you 
want to know ?” 

“Yes.” McCarty replied on a sudden inspiration. 
“You were tried with Radley, weren’t you, and con¬ 
victed of sending that poisoned candy—?” 

He paused and Porter shrugged again. 

“What’s the comedy for? You got that from head¬ 
quarters, and nobody’s making a secret of it. It was that 
old charge, the record of that first case that convicted me 
again and it helped convict Radley, too, for we were both 
of us innocent—but what’s the use of telling that to you 
now ?” 

“There’ll be a lot of use in telling us, for your own 
sake, what you had to do with the crush-out last month.” 

“Nothing. I haven’t been outside these gates since I 
came in June.” 

“Then you didn’t know anything about it till Radley 
showed up here a couple of weeks ago ?” 

“I don’t know anything about it now, except what I 
read in the papers.” Porter faced him squarely. “What 
do you mean about Radley showing up?” 

“You didn’t hide him in that empty house next door 
and smuggle food and drinks, and a razor and clothes 
in to him, did you?” McCarty paused for a moment 
again, but Porter maintained a dogged silence and he 
went on: “Does Benjamin Parsons know of it? ’Twill 
be news to him to hear that after him taking you in 
and all, you’ve been making him' accessory after a crush- 
out—!” 

“He’s accessory to nothing!” Porter interrupted. “I 
know the law, for I have bitter reason to! He’s a fine 
old man and believes in giving everybody a fair chance, 
especially if they’ve been framed, but he’d do nothing 


154 


ANNIHILATION 


against the law even if he thinks it’s in the wrong. 
You’ve no proof that Radley was here or that any one 
helped him to hide but I’m glad he made his getaway, 
glad! I hope to God he’s never caught to go back to 
that hell!” 

“Even though you go, now?” McCarty demanded. 
“You’ve one chance to keep clear of it, Porter, and 
you’ll not be giving Radley away, either. We’re wise 
already that ’twas you helped him to hide and then 
make his getaway, but ’tis not Radley we’re after now 
except as the alarm has gone out to the whole Force. 
We’re on another lay entirely but we just want to find 
out when he beat it away from the Mall and how he 
got out. I never gave my word yet that I broke it, and 
I’m giving it now that ’twill not be from me nor Rior- 
dan either a hint will get out about your part in all 
this.” 

“You mean you’re not here to frame me nor kid me 
into snitching on Radley?” A faint tremor of hope 
ran through his tones as he gazed searchingly into the 
honest, square-jawed face before him. “You’ve got a 
name for fair play, Mac, and you’re on to enough al¬ 
ready to put me away again if you want to, so what I 
tell you can’t matter.—It won’t hurt George Radley 
either, as it happens.” 

Dennis started violently and McCarty asked: 

“Why can’t it? You don’t mean he’s croaked?” 

“I mean I don’t know any more than you do when he 
beat it or how he passed the gates, and that’s the God’s 
truth!” Porter responded slowly, his gaunt, sallow face 
twitching. “I read about his escape in the papers as I 
told you and when the days passed and he wasn’t caught 


THE BREATH OF DEATH 155 


I was happy thinking he had got clean away but I never 
dreamed of him turning up here! Late one afternoon, 
though,—never mind how long ago—I opened the side 
door to find him all but leaning against it, weak from 
hunger and thirst and fairly desperate. He’d got past 
the watchman during a rainstorm a night or two be¬ 
fore to try to reach me, his old pal, and he’d been hiding 
in that empty house next door, without food or water, not 
daring to come openly and ask for me. When I didn’t 
show myself he made up his mind to beat it, but he found 
he couldn’t get out as easy as he’d got in, and he was 
near crazy!” 

“That’ll be a week ago last Saturday.” McCarty nod¬ 
ded. “When you came on him he was just after grab¬ 
bing a kid that lives on the block here and searching his 
pockets to see could he find if the lad had a key to the 
gates—!” 

“Glory be!” Dennis ejaculated beneath his breath. 

“Yes. He was half off his head, but he didn’t hurt 
the boy any, only scared him. I made him go back next 
door and lay low till the search, was over, and after 
night-fall I took him some bread and meat and a bot¬ 
tle of rare old port from the cellar. It was stealing, and 
poor return for all the old gentleman has done for me, 
but George needed it bad, and I figured I owed most to 
him. He needed clothes too, but mine fitted him, and 
I didn’t have to steal money for him either, because the 
old gentleman pays me good and I’d been nowhere to 
spend it. The trouble was how to get him through the 
gates, for after the scare he’d given the boy both watch¬ 
men were leery of strangers and if he was held up and 
questioned I knew he’d go to pieces from the long strain 


156 


ANNIHILATION 


he’d been under, and it would be all up with him.” 
Porter reached for a silver jug of icewater which stood 
on the table beside him and drank deeply, then replaced 
it with a sigh of relief. “No one has keys except the 
families themselves and I’d no chance to borrow Miss 
Parsons’, of course, nor her niece, Miss Hester’s. The 
old gentleman carries his on a ring and sleeps with it 
under his pillow and though I tried twice to get it 
he woke up both times; I had a job of it to explain 
what I was doing in his room and I didn’t dare risk 
it again. George was getting wild with the waiting 
and worry, and took to prowling out at night in spite 
of all I could say; I was getting pretty desperate myself 
when all at once he’d gone, and that’s all I know.” 

He straightened his narrow shoulders as though a 
load were lifted from them and McCarty rose. 

“When did you see him last?” 

“Sunday night late when I went to take him some 
food. I handed it in through the window and we talked 
for a minute, but I didn’t dare stay longer. George 
was almost ready to give himself up, for his nerve was 
gone and it was all I could do to persuade him to wait. 
We’d arranged that I was to go to him every other 
night—I couldn’t risk it oftener—so I didn’t miss him 
Monday. Last evening I got some rolls, a cold pheasant 
and a half-bottle of burgundy and waited under the win¬ 
dow as long as I dared, but he didn’t come and finally 
I took down the loose iron bars and let myself in. 
There wasn’t the least sign of a light from his candle 
and he didn’t answer when I took a chance and called, 
so I left the food and came away, but I was awake all 
night worrying and towards morning I went back and got 
the stuff, which hadn’t been touched. I was afraid 


THE BREATH OF DEATH 157 


the cook would miss the pheasant and it might be found 
and traced; I never thought about the wine bottles!” 

“So he might have got away any time from Sunday 
night on?” 

“That’s right. I’m giving it to you straight, Mac, and 
I knew when I saw you an hour ago that you’d be 
after me sooner or later, especially when Miss Parsons— 
the old gentleman’s sister, Miss Priscilla—heard a noise 
next door and told me to notify the watchman! I was 
afraid it was all up with us last week when Inspector 
Druet came, but it was about that valet from across the 
street who was poisoned and the inspector didn’t even 
let on he recognized me.” 

“Do you know the kid that Radley tried to get a key 
off of?” McCarty ignored the observation. 

“Only by sight. Red-haired, isn’t he, and lives next 
door to where that valet worked? I see him now and 
then going by on the other side of the street.” 

“Have you seen him since he got that scare?” 

“Oh, yes.” Porter smiled faintly in surprise. “Only 
a day or so ago. George didn’t mean to scare him even, 
—he wouldn’t harm a fly!—but the thought of those 
gates shutting him in as though he was back up the 
river almost drove him mad!” 

“You’ve been here since June, you say, Porter? Did 
you know that valet who died?” 

“No. I think I’ve seen him with the butler from 
the next house, but I don’t want to know any of them. 
I was glad enough to stay here and do a servant’s work 
myself till I could get my nerve back to go out and hunt 
up my own kind of a position again where the bulls 
wouldn’t keep moving me on.” He smiled again, but 
bitterly. “I guess there isn’t a chance of that now with 


158 


ANNIHILATION 


you on! I’m not sorry, though; I’d do it again for 
George! He was innocent, the same as me, and look 
what was done to him!” 

“If I find you’ve come clean I’ll keep my word, Por¬ 
ter,” McCarty reiterated as he moved toward the door 
with Dennis in tow. “You may not know it but I’m not 
on the Force any longer, nor connected with headquarters 
except to mix in now and then for old times’ sake, and 
the inspector didn’t recognize you the other day; he 
kind of knew your face but he couldn’t place you. Rior- 
dan and me will just forget you laid eyes on Radley un¬ 
less it comes to a showdown, and then we’ll do what we 
can for you.” 

Cutting short the ex-convict’s broken thanks they took 
their departure, to find Inspector Druet pacing impa¬ 
tiently back and forth before the two closed houses op¬ 
posite and Dennis’ comments on the interview just ended 
were necessarily curtailed. 

“Did you get any dope from Parsons?” the inspector 
asked. 

“We didn’t even see him,” McCarty parried. “I was 
getting a line on the servants; do you recall saying you’d 
seen one or two of them before? Have you thought 
where ?” 

“Lord, no! I’ve had enough else on my mind! I had 
an idea one of the housemaids and the page-boy who 
runs errands looked familiar, but there wasn’t anything 
out of the ordinary about them.” 

Dennis coughed and McCarty remarked hastily: 

“I guess none of them knows what’s become of the 
man who has been hiding next door, nor anything about 
the Goddard lad and that’s all that matters right now, 
isn’t it, sir? Did you get the keys to these houses?” 


THE BREATH OF DEATH 159 


“Yes, and explained again to that fool of a watch¬ 
man, Jennings. I had time to look around pretty thor¬ 
oughly outside them while I waited for you and I couldn’t 
find a window or door that had been tampered with. 
Let’s see what’s inside.” 

One o’clock had come and gone and another hour 
passed before they emerged from the second of the two 
houses after a fruitless search. Dust and mold were 
all they had encountered in the huge, echoing, partially 
dismantled rooms and the footprints they themselves 
left behind them were the only recent signs of human 
presence. 

Dennis blinked and drew in the fresh air deeply when 
they stood once more in the sunlight. 

“ ’Tis like coming out of a tomb!” he averred. “What’s 
it to be now, inspector?” 

“I’m going to Goddard and make him talk!” that 
official responded with a certain grimness which was elo¬ 
quent. “Until he comes across with his suspicions as to 
who kidnapped the boy our hands are tied and every hour 
counts. You two had better get a bite to eat and meet me 
at his house later.” 

Nothing loth, they accepted the hint. It was mid-after¬ 
noon before they approached the east gate of the Mall 
again, to find Jennings energetically engaged in driving 
away a swarthy vendor of toy balloons, whose basket 
freighted with globes of bright, crude color bobbing 
on slender sticks, resembled an uprooted garden patch 
of strange, grotesque blooms. 

“They’re a pest, those peddlers!” he declared as he 
admitted them. “They’re not so bad, though, as the 
reporters that have been trying to get in since you left! 
Say, did you know Horace Goddard is lost—?” 


160 


ANNIHILATION 


“Sure we know it!” McCarty interrupted. “Didn’t 
Trafford tell you so himself yesterday afternoon?—* 
Hurry, Denny!” 

Leaving the watchman staring speechlessly, they 
quickened their pace toward the Goddard house and 
were passing the entrance door of Orbit’s when it was 
flung open and Ching Lee appeared. 

For once the Chinaman’s wooden impassivity had 
deserted him. His slant-eyes were rolling wildly, his 
yellow face distorted and his queue streaked out behind 
him like a tail as he plunged down the steps and seized 
McCarty with an iron grip of long-nailed, tapering fin¬ 
gers. 

“The nurse-baby!” he babbled, his singsong voice 
high and shrill. “The Flench maid of next-door baby! 
Come quick!” 

“Lucette, do you mean? The Bellamy child’s nurse?” 
McCarty halted. “Stop chattering like a monkey and 
tell me where is she, and what’s the matter ?” 

“Lucette!” Ching Lee nodded vigorously and pointed 
in at the open windows of the conservatory. “She is 
the next! She has breathed the breath of death!” 


CHAPTER XIII 


“the horror deepens !” 

<c srr^HE breath of death!’ ” Dennis repeated, awe- 
-®- struck. “God save us, what’s that? Are you 
trying to say that the French, girl is in Orbit’s house, 
deadt” 

“We’ll soon see!” Shaking off the Chinese butler’s 
grip McCarty dashed up the steps and in at the door, with 
Dennis just behind and Ching Lee bringing up the rear, 
chanting a weird refrain of lamentation. 

The door of the huge conservatory also stood wide 
and its humid breath, heavy with fragrance, stole out 
to meet them, the silent organ with slender pipes gleam¬ 
ing softly like silver birches in moonlight looming up 
in the semi-gloom, but a group at the marble bench 
facing it stood out against the background of leafy palms 
and thorny cacti, holding their eyes irresistibly in dread 
fascination. 

Orbit’s tall figure, the Bellamy baby clasped tightly 
in his arms, stood before it. Beside him Jean, the house¬ 
man, was bending forward while little Fu Moy knelt at 
its foot. On the bench itself a slender form lay re¬ 
laxed as though in sleep, the head with its bright hair 
rippling from beneath the trim little bonnet resting against 
the high, white stone back, the small gloved hands limply 
extended at either side. 

McCarty halted for an instant and Dennis crossed 
161 


162 


ANNIHILATION 


himself but Ching Lee darted forward and seizing Fu 
Moy dragged him away as though from the mouth 
of some unnameable peril. Then Orbit turned, his face 
white and set, and McCarty advanced to meet him. 

“Thank Heaven, it is you!” The resonant, well- 
modulated voice was hoarse and shaken. “Ching Lee 
thought he caught a glimpse of you passing and I told 
him to rush after you! McCarty, look—look at this 
girl! What is this horror that has come to my 
house!” 

“Is it—dead, she is?” McCarty’s own tones were 
reverently low. “How did it happen? What was she 
doing here?” 

“Listening to the organ! She was to all appearances 
as bright and well as this little child but when I finished 
playing and turned, she was as you see her now! I feel 
as though I were going mad, as though I couldn’t credit 
the evidence of my own eyes! What can this fearful 
thing mean!” 

“We’d better be finding out, Mr. Orbit!” McCarty 
was rapidly recovering from the first shock and his quick 
mind leaped to meet the exigencies of the tragic situa¬ 
tion. “Denny, run next door to Goddard’s and get the 
inspector but not a word to anybody else!—Jean, take 
the little one home to the other house and tell Mrs. Bel¬ 
lamy that her nursemaid’s took sick here but will be 
over it in a little while and she’s not to bother; under¬ 
stand ? Think you can put it so’s she won’t come tearing 
in here to make a scene?” 

Jean straightened and nodded, not trusting himself to 
speak. His sensitive face was working but he controlled 
his emotions by a valiant effort and took the baby whom 
his employer held mechanically out to him,. Little Maude 


“THE HORROR DEEPENS!” 163 


broke into a low wail of dismay at the abrupt transition 
and stretched out wavering, dimpled arms to the familiar 
but strangely inattentive figure on the bench. Her sobs 
echoed back to them as she was borne quickly from the 
room. 

“Now, Mr. Orbit, what did you do when you turned 
from the organ and saw Lucette stretched out like this 
on the bench?” McCarty began. “Where was the baby? 
How did Ching Lee and Jean know that something was 
wrong,—did you call them? Have you sent for any¬ 
body else?” 

Orbit passed his hand across his forehead as if dazed 
and the other noticed that it came away glistening with 
moisture. 

“For the doctor, of course!” He replied to the last 
question first. “Allonby, around on the next block. I 
haven’t had a physician for years myself, but some of 
my neighbors swear by him. I told Ching Lee to tele¬ 
phone to him as soon as I could make myself realize that 
—that she was gone!” 

A slight shudder ran through him and he averted his 
gaze from the rounded, childish face, relaxed as though 
in sleep, save that the bright blue eyes were dull and 
staring widely at the lofty ceiling. 

“She wasn’t dead, then, the first glimpse you had of 
her after you stopped playing?” McCarty himself did 
not find it easy to continue, with that silent, dominant 
presence before them. 

“I don’t know—but she must have been, of course! 
She didn’t move and there was no sign of her breath! 
I can’t understand- it! What frightful thing can have 
stricken her?” 

“Suppose you tell me from the beginning.” McCarty 


164 


ANNIHILATION 


restrained his impatience. “How did she and the child 
come here?” 

“I was seated here alone at the organ, improvising as 
I do when I am disturbed in mind, for this misfortune 
to little Horace affected me deeply.” He paused as 
though to collect himself, glanced again with a shudder at 
the body of the young French girl and turned away. 
“The room, seemed overpoweringly warm and I went 
to the window there and opened it wider to see Lucette 
and the baby just outside, listening. The child is en¬ 
tranced with music and once or twice before Lucette has 
brought her in at my invitation; Mrs. Bellamy is much 
amused at little Maude’s devotion to me. When I saw 
them standing there I suggested that they come in and 
myself opened the door for them. Lucette seated herself 
there where you see her now and took the baby up on 
her lap. I returned to the organ, really forgetting their 
presence the moment I was seated again before it. 
Handel’s ‘Largo’ came into my thoughts, although it is 
scarcely the sort of thing to appeal to a child and I 
played it through to the end. In the silence, as the last 
notes died away, the patter of little feet running across 
the marble floor recalled my guests to my mind and I 
turned. Little Maude was playing about that palm over 
there, trying to reach the lowest of its broad leaves 
but Lucette was—as you see her. I don’t know—I can’t 
recall what I thought for the moment—possibly that she 
had fallen asleep or was still relaxed under the spell of 
the music, but almost instantly it came to me that some¬ 
thing was wrong. I called her name sharply, I remem¬ 
ber, and hurried to her side but before I touched her 
I seemed to know the truth—that she was dead!” 


‘THE HORROR DEEPENS!” 


165 


'‘You didn't move her, Mr. Orbit? The position of 
the body is just the same?” 

“I raised one of her hands to feel her pulse but there 
was no slightest beat beneath my fingers and I lowered 
it to the bench and drew her head forward. One look 
was enough and I let it roll back once more, calling for 
Ching Lee. The baby had trotted over to me and I took 
her up in my arms to keep her from approaching Lu- 
cette. I think it was Jean who appeared first, but Ching 
Lee came immediately after and I told him to send for 
the doctor; when he came back from the telephone he 
said you were passing and I had him stop you.” Orbit 
passed a shaking hand once more across his forehead. 
"What could have brought death to that girl, McCarty? 
I'm not ignorantly superstitious but it seems as if some 
horrible, malign thing were settling down over us here 
in the Mall and the horror deepens! First Hughes, then 
Horace's disappearance and now this inexplicable tragedy 
right under my roof, in my very presence! It is enough 
to shake a man’s reason!” 

"You’re sure you were alone in the house, with just 
the servants, I mean?” McCarty had advanced to the 
body again and was scrutinizing it carefully without 
touching it. "Those front windows are flush with the 
sidewalk but nobody could have climbed in very well 
in broad daylight with the watchman patrolling the block. 
How about that glass wall where it bulges out? The 
lower panes open as well as the upper ones, don’t they?” 

He pointed to the farther side of the room built out 
like a huge bay-window and Orbit nodded. 

"Of course, but they are never touched, except for an 
hour on the hottest of summer days; the tropical orchids 


166 


ANNIHILATION 


banked there would die instantly if a cool breeze blew over 
them and the sections of glass can only be reached with 
a long pole. No one could force a way through the 
plants without leaving some trace or making their pres¬ 
ence known. There is a French window in the card- 
room which is probably open and a person might enter 
unseen from the court between this house and Goddard’s, 
and the kitchen or tradesmen’s door may have been left 
ajar.” He spoke slowly as if to himself. “The cook 
is out and Jean, Ching Lee and Fu Moy are the only 
others in the house besides myself. Great heavens, Sir 
Philip arrives this evening! I had a wire from him!” 

“That’s the English gentleman who’s on his way from 
the West? Sir Philip Dever—something?” McCarthy 
recalled their conversation of the previous day. 

“Sir Philip Devereux. He comes at a most inoppor¬ 
tune moment!” Orbit groaned. “This poor girl—Mc¬ 
Carty, there must be some rational explanation!” 

“What did Ching Lee mean?” McCarty asked sud¬ 
denly. “When he grabbed me outside in the street there 
he said Lucette had ‘breathed the breath of death.’ It 
didn’t seem only a Chinese way of expressing himself. 
Have you an idea what he could have been getting 
at?” 

“Is that what he said?” Orbit walked quickly over to 
the nearest orchid and indicated the great distended 
purple bloom shot with angry streaks of livid orange- 
yellow. “There is what he meant, one of the rarest of 
my specimens and a hybrid, a cross between two of the 
least-known varieties of orchid in Central America. The 
natives down there regard it as poison and believe that 
to inhale its odor, which is rank and nauseous, means 
death. There is an old superstition among them that it is 


“THE HORROR DEEPENS!” 167 


part vegetable and part animal life and that the curious 
vibration of its petals—so like pulsation, do you see it?— 
is the act of breathing; to smell it is to take its breath, 
to die. Ching Lee heard me telling this to some guests 
one evening and nothing could ever induce him to ap¬ 
proach it since. There is nothing in the idea, however ; 
the plant isn’t poisonous in any way, but I suppose that 
was the first thought that occurred to his mind when he 
saw Lucette lying dead.” 

McCarty edged cautiously over toward it but foot¬ 
steps sounded in the hall and Jean presented himself 
at the door. 

‘‘Madame Bellamy is not at home, but Snape took the 
little Maude to place in the care of one of the maids,” 
he reported. “He say that he will explain to Madame.— 
The docteur is not come?” 

Before Orbit or McCarty could reply the doorbell 
rang and he hurried away to admit Dennis and the in¬ 
spector. The latter had evidently been prepared by his 
companion, for he glanced hastily at the body and then 
turned to Orbit. 

“How long has she been dead ?” he asked. 

“I don’t know; about twenty minutes I should say, 
inspector. It occurred while I was playing rather a 
lengthy movement on the organ and I wasn’t aware of it 
until I had finished.” Orbit started as the bell pealed 
again and added in relief: “That must be Doctor Allonby 
now!” 

Jean ushered in a slender, dapper man who greeted 
Orbit by name, nodded with suddenly alert interest when 
the inspector and his deputies were introduced and then 
advanced to the body. 

While he examined it the four grouped themselves 


168 


ANNIHILATION 


about him, but Jean crept to the door and joined Ching 
Lee who was hovering just outside. They whispered 
together but the others waited in tense silence. 

Finally the doctor straightened. 

“This woman has been killed by the inhalation of some 
gas, some poisonous fumes, but of what nature I am 
unable to determine,” he announced, gazing from Orbit 
to the inspector with keen incisiveness. “I have never 
encountered a similar case but the symptoms admit of no 
other diagnosis. They are like and yet unlike some of 
those I noted on the battlefields of France a few years 
ago, but undoubtedly death was induced by asphyxiation 
of an exceedingly uncommon form; the autopsy will 
reveal its nature.” 

The inhalation of poisonous fumes! McCarthy heard 
a faint but high-pitched ejaculation in the hall, in Ching 
Lee’s chattering tones. Involuntarily his eyes strayed to 
the distorted, bulbous, luridly glowing orchid, which 
seemed in the shadows to be moving, reaching out to¬ 
ward them! Could it have been the “breath of death” in¬ 
deed ? He felt the nerves crawl beneath his skin and his 
scalp tingled, but the matter-of-fact voice of the inspector 
recalled him to stern facts. 

“How long would you say she’d been dead, Doctor?” 

“Not much more than half an hour; the body is still 
warm. You have taken charge here?” 

The inspector nodded. 

“Then I may suggest that you notify your medical 
examiner without delay. I understand that this death 
is—er—a mystery, Mr. Orbit?” 

“An unaccountable one, Doctor Allonby. I was here 
in the room at the time it occurred, playing the organ 
over there and Lucette and the baby—this young girl 


“THE HORROR DEEPENS!” 169 


was the nurse for Mrs. Bellamy’s child next door—were 
seated on this bench.” 

The doctor started and asked quickly: 

“The child! What has become of it?” 

<f The houseman took it home after you were sum¬ 
moned,” Orbit replied. 

“But it was unharmed? The child was seated here 
beside the nurse?” 

“Oh, no!” Orbit interrupted. “While I played it had 
climbed down and was amusing itself over by that palm.” 

“A miraculous escape!” the doctor exclaimed. “Had 
it remained here it would undoubtedly have met with the 
same death which overcame the nurse. Was that win¬ 
dow open just as it is now, the one directly behind those 
plants back of the bench?” 

The doctor had never taken his eyes from Orbit’s face 
and it seemed to McCarty that his tones had quickened. 

“Just as you see it now,” affirmed Orbit. “Nothing 
has been disturbed or changed in any way. But, Doctor, 
are you positive of your diagnosis? I am not question¬ 
ing your knowledge but this terrible affair is utterly inex¬ 
plicable to me! I heard nothing, saw no one! When I 
seated myself before the organ Lucette was to all casual 
appearances a perfectly normal young woman glowing 
with health; when I turned from it a few minutes later 
she was stretched there dead! The child was absolutely 
unconcerned and I am sure she had noticed nothing; she 
is a shy little creature, uneasy in the presence of strangers, 
and if any one had stolen in and approached the nurse 
it seems incredible that she would not have cried out or 
run to me. Thank heaven she is old enough to talk, we 
may be able to learn something from her later.” 

“That is an important point,” conceded the doctor. 


170 


ANNIHILATION 


“When you approached the body did you notice any 
peculiar odor on the air? It would have been pungent, 
irritating, almost choking.—Think, Mr. Orbit! You 
must have been conscious of some foreign, highly 
chemicalized odor, even if it were almost instantly dis¬ 
sipated/’ 

There was a pause and then Orbit slowly shook his 
head. 

“I was conscious of no such odor,” he replied. “It is 
odd, for I am peculiarly sensitive to things of that sort 
but then I was overwhelmed with the shock of what had 
taken place. As soon as I realized the girl was dead I 
called the servants—they might have detected this odor 
you speak of.—Jean! Ching Lee!” 

The two advanced reluctantly from the hall, but in 
answer to the physician’s queries supplemented by more 
brusk ones from the inspector, they could reply only 
in the negative. Jean had been polishing some brasses in 
a nearby room and heard Mr. Orbit call Ching Lee; he 
had thought it strange that he did not ring as usual, and 
when he called again there was something in his voice 
that made Jean think he needed help. He rushed in and 
saw the girl stretched upon the bench and Mr. Orbit 
standing there with little Maude in his arms. Ching Lee 
had entered just behind him and their stammered stories 
corroborated that of their employer in every detail. 
They had noticed no odor but that of the plants all about 
and they were quite certain they had seen no stranger 
lurking in the immediate vicinity, to say nothing of get¬ 
ting into the house itself. They had both been on the 
lower floor all the afternoon. 

“I live on the next street and I shall be glad to render 
any assistance possible to your medical examiner,” Doc- 


“THE HORROR DEEPENS!” 


171 


tor Allonby turned to the inspector and there was an 
oddly repressed note in his tones. “I will look up this 
case among my notes and try to ascertain the nature of 
the chemicals used to generate the gas or vapor which 
caused this young woman’s death, meanwhile holding my¬ 
self at your disposal.—Mr. Orbit, I regret that I arrived 
too late to be of real service, but in any event the end 
must have come almost instantaneously.” 

He bowed, still with that guarded air of repression, 
and left the room, Ching Lee accompanying him to the 
door. Orbit shrugged, throwing out his hands in a hope¬ 
less gesture. 

“You saw? I believe the man actually thinks I am 
withholding some facts from him!—But who wouldn’t? 
I can’t bring myself to believe it either, even with that 
poor girl’s body here before us! It is awful—awful!” 

He sank down upon a low stone seat, resting his head 
upon his hands and the inspector observed: 

‘‘Poison gas! That’s a new one on me, except for the 
carbon monoxide generated from motor cars standing 
in enclosed spaces. I never was connected with the 
Bomb Squad but I thought most of that stuff had to be 
exploded. You didn’t hear anything, did you, while you 
were playing?” 

“Not a sound. The ‘Largo’ is not necessarily thun¬ 
derous in volume but it has swelling chords which would 
have effectually smothered any slight noise. What are 
we to do now, inspector? I am in your hands.” 

“Where’s your telephone ? I’ve got to notify headquar¬ 
ters and get the medical examiner. That’s the first step, 
as the doctor said. ... Of course I want no one to leave 
this house!” 

“Assuredly not!” Orbit lifted his head. “Ching Lee, 


172 


ANNIHILATION 


show Inspector Druet to the telephone and then see that 
Fu Moy remains quietly upstairs until he is sent for. ,, 

Ching Lee bowed and followed the official from the 
room. Dennis, who had been fearfully regarding the 
body of the dead girl, moved toward McCarty. 

“By all that’s unholy, what’s doing around here!” he 
whispered audibly. “Are the powers of darkness let 
loose, entirely ? Poison gas, my eye! Mac, how would 
anybody be reaching her except with a squirt-gun or a 
grenade through that window ?” 

“Who gave Hughes that poison that not one in a 
thousand has ever heard of, and how was the Goddard 
kid snatched from off the face of the earth?” McCarty 
retorted but in a cautiously lowered tone. He had ap¬ 
proached the bench once more and was gazing down at 
the still figure. “You remember what Ching Lee said? 
Lucette was the ‘next.’ He don’t think this devilment 
is goin’ to stop even here and no more do I, unless 
our luck turns and we can stamp it out! This girl, 
now—” 

He paused, staring down seemingly at the small feet 
encased in their neat shoes which peeped out from be¬ 
neath a fold of her skirt, and Dennis drew back with a 
shiver. 

“It turns me fair sick to look at her! To think we 
was only talking to her this morning!—It seems to me 
there is a kind of a funny smell on the air! Don’t you 
get it, Mac ? Maybe it’s something that creeps over you 
gradual, and before we know it we could be corpses our¬ 
selves ! I’d like well to be out of this room!” 

“ ’Tis your imagination and not that nose you brag 
of that’s working now!” McCarty thrust his foot for¬ 
ward in a pushing motion until his knee struck smartly 


“THE HORROR DEEPENS!” 


173 


against the edge of the stone seat on which Lucette’s body 
lay. “There’s no smell whatever, barring the scent of 
the flowers! Himself has been here through it all, re¬ 
member.” 

He indicated with a jerk of his head the seat where the 
bowed figure rested, and at that moment the inspector 
reentered the conservatory. 

“Mr. Orbit, is there any other entrance to this room be¬ 
sides that door?” 

Orbit looked up and then rose slowly, shaking his 
head. 

“None, but the windows are open as you see—” 

“We’ll close and fasten them and then lock this door 
behind us. I want everything in here left undisturbed 
until the medical examiner comes. Take us somewhere 
private where we can talk; I’ll have to get every detail 
connected with this straight for my report.” 

“My study, upstairs?” Orbit suggested. 

“All right. Riordan, close the windows, will you, and 
fix the catches?” The inspector turned and fumbled 
with the key in the lock as Dennis started for the win¬ 
dows and Orbit, after a last horror-stricken glance at the 
dead girl, preceded the others from the room. 

McCarty eyed his superior’s back for a moment then 
stooped quickly and drew out from under the bench the 
object he had carefully kicked there a minute or two be¬ 
fore ; it was a slender stick with a wad of shrivelled, limp 
blue rubber dependent from one end. Snapping the stick 
he thrust it back beneath the bench again and placed the 
fragment with the clinging, clammily resilient pouch in 
his pocket. Then he, too, glanced once more at Lucette’s 
dead face as though ratifying some agreement between 
them and turned to follow his superior. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE BLUE BALLOON 

O RBIT told of the afternoon’s tragic experience again 
in detail for the inspector’s benefit and McCarty 
and Dennis listened carefully, but it differed in no way 
from his first description. At its conclusion the medical 
examiner’s assistant was announced. The inspector de¬ 
scended with Orbit but McCarty and his colleague dis¬ 
creetly effaced themselves. 

“We’re leaving just when it’s getting good!” Dennis 
sighed with morbid relish as they went down the steps 
and out into the lengthening shadows of late afternoon. 
“I’d like to have had a good look by ourselves around that 
conservatory! That doctor may be all right for the 
fashionable, expensive ailments of the crowd around this 
neighborhood, but I’ve been fighting fires too long not to 
know what asphyxiation means and ’twas not that 
killed the poor young thing in that great vault of a room 
with the windows open wide behind her!—How the devil 
do you suppose she did come to die, Mac ?” 

“I’m past guessing!” McCarty confessed. “’Tis the 
worst case since ever I went on the Force, and we’re up 
against the cleverest murdering wretch that’s been loosed 
on the world! You’ll mind I told you once that brains 
and not brawn was back of it all ? Brains it is, with the 
genius of them twisted and gone wrong, and a knowledge 
of poisons and such that means the learning of a lifetime! 
174 


THE BLUE BALLOON 


175 


Well slip around to the back of the house and wait till the 
medical lad from headquarters has gone. I’m thinking 
there’s more besides us would like a minute or two in that 
conservatory!” 

“Why?” Dennis looked startled. “Is something hid 
there, do you mean ? How could it be, with the servants 
around all the time and Orbit right there in the room? 
’Tis the first murder ever I heard of that could be pulled 
off with a man playing the organ not twenty feet away 
and a little child running about in the midst of it and 
neither of them the Wiser! There’s the baby now!” 

They had reached the rear court and in the tradesmen’s 
entrance of the Bellamy house next door a buxom house¬ 
maid appeared with little Maude in her arms. She stood 
eyeing them in undisguised curiosity and interest and 
McCarty lifted his hat, approaching her with a bland 
smile. 

“Maudie’s after having a new nurse, I see!” he began 
ingratiatingly. “ ’Tis a pity Lucette took sick back there 
in Mr. Orbit’s—” 

“How is she?” the woman interrupted. “What hap¬ 
pened to her? I know who you are; you’re from the 
police trying to find out who killed the valet from in 
there.” 

McCarty acknowledged the recognition with a bow as 
graceful as his girth permitted. 

“You’ve got us right. We just happened to be on 
hand to-day when Lucette got sick; she d brought the 
baby in to hear Mr. Orbit play and he told Jean to bring 
her back home while the doctor was coming. I guess 
that French girl’s pretty bad but they didn’t tell us what 
was the matter with her.” 

“Lucette!” The child had caught a familiar name. 


176 ANNIHILATION 

“Maudie wants Lucette!—Wants to hear mans play 
adain!” 

She struggled to free herself and the woman stooped 
and set her on her feet but kept a careful grip on the 
fluffy skirts. 

“She’s a handful!’’ Her tone was exasperated. “It 
was all I could do to get her quiet and now she’s started 
hollering again! Lucette’s got a wonderful knack with 
her, and patience too, and Maudie’s took a great fancy to 
her, considering the little while she’s been here. She’s a 
nice girl and I can’t think what’s ailing her, for she 
was all right when she started out with the baby for a 
walk this afternoon.” 

“Want to walk now!” Maudie announced making an 
abortive dive forward. “Want to go to Lucette.” 

“Hello, there!” McCarty held out a stubby forefinger 
and Maudie looked up at him for a moment, then shyly 
clasped her chubby hand about it. “What happened to 
your pretty balloon?” 

“ ‘Balloon?’ ” Her other hand went to her mouth and 
she sucked her thumb reflectively. 

“Sure,” McCarty urged encouragingly while Dennis 
stared at him in surprise. “The grand blue balloon you 
had. What’s become of it? Did you break it?” 

“She had no balloon—,” the woman began, but Maudie 
was of another mind. 

“Did have!” she contradicted flatly. “Lucette buyed 
it.” 

“Off of a wop—I mean, a man—with a big basket full 
of them down by the gate?” McCarty asked. “A big 
basket with a lot of balloons, red and blue and purple 
ones?” 

Maudie nodded. 


THE BLUE BALLOON 


177 


'‘Big bastik!” she affirmed. “Lucette buyed balloon an’ 
I tooked it into the man’s house where he made the 
music.” 

She was evidently trying hard to remember and Mc¬ 
Carty waited but the effort proving vain he prompted: 

“You broke the balloon while the man was making the 
music, didn’t you?—When you got down off Lucette’s 
lap to play around, didn’t you break the pretty bal¬ 
loon?” 

“Didn’t bwoke it!” Maudie shook her curls decidedly. 
“Dave it to Lucette.” 

“Whilst the man was making the music?” McCarty 
persisted. 

“No. Lucette tooked it when we went into the man’s 
house, where the garden is an’ the fing that makes the 
music.—Want my balloon!” 

The corners of the rosebud mouth drooped pitifully 
and a premonitory moisture dimmed her eyes. 

“What did Lucette do with it, do you know?” 

The question was beyond Maudie, however, and she 
could only reiterate: 

“Want Lucette! Want my balloon!” 

“Did Lucette have many friends here in this country, 
do you think?” McCarty gave it up at last and addressed 
the housemaid, who fortunately did not note that he 
voiced his query in the past tense. 

“No, she hasn’t. She’s got plenty of followers, if 
that’s what you mean, but she’s real sensible for such a 
young thing and don’t bother with them. She would not 
have gone in Mr. Orbit’s house if that Hughes had been 
alive, though; she hated the sight of him and small 
blame to her!” 

McCarty chuckled. 


178 


ANNIHILATION 


“He was a gay lad, from all accounts! But I guess 
there are others that Lucette hates too, eh? She's kind 
of afraid of somebody, isn't she?" 

“Not that I know of!" The woman tossed her head as 
she caught up the protesting Maudie once more. “I've 
no call to be talking about her to a stranger, anyway! 
Get along with your nonsense!" 

McCarty laughed again good-naturedly. 

“A bit of gossip does no harm! But we’ve work to do, 
Denny and me. Good-by, Maudie!" 

“By-by!" that young person responded graciously, and 
the two departed for the Orbit house. 

“What for were you asking the kid about the balloon?" 
Dennis asked, when they were out of earshot of the 
woman who still stood in the door watching them. “I 
saw none anywhere near the girl's body! How did you 
know she’d bought one for the child?" 

“What would that wop have been hanging around the 
gate for, if he’d not sold one already in here and hoped 
to get rid of more?" McCarty countered. “Who else 
would be wanting balloons when there's no other kid on 
the block since the Burminster girl’s not back from the 
country and Horace Goddard’s gone?" 

“ 'Gone,' it is!" Dennis' voice lowered fearfully. “I 
feel it in my bones, Mac, that the boy will never turn up 
alive!—There goes the car with the medical examiner's 
assistant. They'll be sending now for the body and then 
'twill be all over the neighborhood!—Who in the devil is 
back of it all?" 

“Who’ll be the next one marked for death or disappear¬ 
ance?" retorted McCarty. “ 'Tis that has me worried 
now, for the hell-hound is working faster and faster as 
if the killing fever was getting the best of him. By that 


THE BLUE BALLOON 


179 


same token, that’s my one hope; that ’twill get the best of 
his shrewdness and cunning, and he’ll give himself away! 
That’s the question now, Denny; who’ll be the next ?” 

They reentered the Orbit house, by way of the trades¬ 
men’s entrance, to find that Andre the cook had returned 
and was visibly wrought up over the fate of his country¬ 
woman. His hands trembled as he shelled chestnuts for 
a glace and dire threats issued in a choked monotone from 
beneath the fiercely bristling mustache. 

“That Hughes should have been taken, perhaps it was 
the hand of fate or le bon Dieu, for he was of use to no 
one in the world except m’sieu, and a perfect valet is easily 
found, especially among the French, but that the little 
Horace should be made to disappear and now Lucette the 
beautiful one is kill’—it shall be for the revenge!” 

“You’re right, it shall!” McCarty returned grimly. 
“Andre, do you know the Parsons’ cook across the 
street?” 

“It is a she!” Andre looked up with a shrug of unutter¬ 
able contempt. “A woman big like a brigadier with three 
moles upon her cheek! How should she know the art of 
the cuisine?—But what would you? They are of the old 
bourgeoisie, these Parsons. I am not acquaint’ with the 
Amazon of the three moles!” 

“Did ever you notice the eyes of her?” McCarty asked 
suddenly. “Do they be looking two ways at once?” 

“But yes!” Andre stared. “It is as though she would 
see behind of her. Has she, then, tell to you something 
of value to your search?” 

“She’d have to see more than just behind her to do 
that, Andre!” 

They left him still muttering and passed through the 
pantries and down the hall toward the front, but Me- 


180 ANNIHILATION 

Carty drew Dennis hastily back as the doorbell sounded 
vociferously. 

“That’ll be the ambulance to take the body to the 
morgue for the autopsy,” he whispered. “The medical 
examiner’s assistant must have ’phoned for it before he 
left, that it’s here so quick. We’ll just be laying low till 
it’s gone.” 

“And we’ve no chance for another look at the corpse!” 
Dennis mourned. 

“What for? ’Twould help us none and ’tis not from 
what’s already happened we’ll find out the truth, but from 
what’s maybe coming! It’s as well to have the poor 
thing’s body out of the way.” 

In silence, then, they listened to the heavy tramp of 
feet, but when the front door had closed once more Mc¬ 
Carty beckoned to his companion and started for the 
conservatory. Its door stood wide, the windows had 
been flung open again and a slight breeze which had 
sprung up stirred and rustled the leaves of the palms, 
but nowhere did there remain any sign of the tragedy 
so recently enacted. 

Walking over to the organ McCarty scrutinized it 
critically and then seating himself on the stool before it 
with his back to the instrument and hands outspread on 
his knees, he regarded the marble bench on which Lucette 
had met her death while Dennis shifted from foot to foot 
watching him. All at once, with a grunt, he doubled 
forward and appeared to be peering at the space beneath 
the bench. 

“Nothing’s under there.” Dennis’ eyes had followed 
the direction of his gaze. “The floor’s bare and clean 
as the palm of your hand. What more is there here for 
us to see?” 


THE BLUE BALLOON 


181 


“Not a thing, now,” McCarty replied. Nevertheless 
he crossed to the windows and examined the sills before 
leading the way from the room. 

In the hall they met Orbit. There were deep lines 
graven on his face by the shock and strain of the after¬ 
noon’s horror and he was holding himself in such deep 
repression that only his eyes betrayed his emotion, glow¬ 
ing darkly like live coals in an ashen pallor. 

“It is—all over?” he asked in a hushed tone. “Jean 
tells me the body has been removed and the conservatory 
thrown open again. * I would gladly close it forever, I 
feel that I can never touch the organ, but I suppose that 
is morbid. Whatever mysterious, horrible thing came 
to destroy that girl we can be thankful that the baby es¬ 
caped! Your inspector is quite beyond his depth, I am 
afraid, but have you and Riordan no clue ?” 

“Did the medical examiner’s assistant say it was poison 
gas did it, the same as the doctor?” McCarty evaded the 
question. 

“He didn’t express an opinion while I was there, but 
your inspector went away with him, perhaps for some 
data that may reveal the actual cause of poor Lucette’s 
death. With all respect to Doctor Allonby I cannot 
convince myself that the girl was gassed; the sheer 
impossibility of it under the circumstances can’t be 
overcome in my mind!—But don’t let me keep you, un¬ 
less, of course, there are some questions you wish to ask 
me?” 

“Not now,” McCarty shook his head. “We’ll be back 
later, likely. You’ve my own ’phone number in case 
anything turns up ?” 

Orbit nodded and himself showed them out the front 
door. Bill Jennings met them as they approached the 


182 


ANNIHILATION 


east gate and launched into excited queries concerning 
the murder but McCarty cut him short. 

“You know as much about it as we do, ourselves/’ he 
asserted. “The girl died sudden, sitting in the conser¬ 
vatory with the child playing around her feet and not 
even the doctor’s sure what took her.—Bill, do you mind 
that balloon peddler you chased away from the gate when 
we were coming in? Did you ever see him hanging 
about before?” 

“Many a time,” returned the watchman promptly. 
“Balloons are a new line with him; it used to be peanuts 
and before that little plaster images. Tony, his name 
is,—he knows this boy coming now, that delivers the 
evening papers for the whole Mall. Is there anything 
wrong about him? He ain’t ever been inside the gates 
while I was on!” 

“Lord, no!” McCarty replied hastily. “I thought he 
looked kind of like a dago I used to know myself. . . . 
Don’t let any reporters in, Bill, until we get back.” 

He hurried through the gate, dragging Dennis after 
him, and around the corner, where he came to a halt. 

“I want a word with that paper-boy,” he explained. 
“Happen he’ll give us a line on this Tony; we’ll collar him 
as he goes back.” 

“Balloons again!” Dennis exclaimed in disgust. “Well 
I know you’ll not talk till your own good time but ’tis 
in your mind that a balloon had something to do with that 
girl’s death! I’d better be getting back to the engine 
house, laying up some good sleep against to-morrow, 
for it’s small use I’ll be while you keep me in the dark!” 

“I’m in the dark myself, Denny,” McCarty confessed 
in contrition. “ ’Tis only a wild guess on my part, but 
I’ve a busted toy balloon in my pocket that I picked up 


THE BLUE BALLOON 


183 


from the floor of that conservatory right foreninst Lu- 
cette’s feet after the doctor had gone. I don’t know has 
it anything to do with the case but ’twas the gas that bal¬ 
loons are sometimes filled with that put me in mind of it. 
I broke the stick off it and threw it under the bench and 
when we went back just now it was gone.” 

Dennis’ jaw dropped. 

“But how in the world could gas, poisoned or no, be 
put into it—?” he began. “I never heard tell of the 
like—!” 

“Wisht! The lad’s coming now!” McCarty cautioned, 
then stepped forward. “Hey, just a minute, sonny! 
Where’ll I find your friend Tony, him that sells toy bal¬ 
loons ? I saw him around here this afternoon and I want 
to get a dozen or so off him for an entertainment. Bill 
Jennings, the watchman there at the Mall, said you could 
tell me.” 

The boy, an olive-skinned lad with soft, dark eyes and 
a shy, ingratiating smile, pushed his cap farther back on 
his curly black hair. 

“Tony Primavera?” he nodded. “He ought ter be 
t’roo bus’ness fer de day now but youse can find him 
over where he lives wid Joe de ice-man, in a basement on 
Thoid Avenyer near Eightieth. He’ll have his stock dere 
wid him, too!” 

Thanking their informant they started east to the 
avenue indicated, and up along that teeming thorough¬ 
fare to Eightieth Street where they readily found the 
steep basement stairs with the sign outside that orders 
for coal and ice would be taken below. 

With Dennis close behind McCarty descended to the 
dark half-cellar, lighted dimly by a single flaring gas-jet. 
Besides the table and broken backed chairs, two cots 


184 


ANNIHILATION 


covered with soiled blankets and a stove on which a pot 
bubbled and gave forth a strong aroma of garlic denoted 
that the apartment served for living as well as business 
purposes, but their eyes were caught primarily by the 
huge basket in the corner bristling with toy balloons so 
that it seemed a miracle it was not lifted from the floor 
by its aerial freight. 

“Are they the same he had with him this afternoon ?” 
asked Dennis. 

“If they are he’s not sold many,” responded McCarty. 
“Where’s he gone, I wonder? ’Tis a grand sight we’ll 
be, trailing them through the streets across town, but I’m 
going to find out what’s inside of every last one of them 
this night!” 

Dennis betrayed acute symptons of alarm. 

“What if we find what we’re looking for and the two 
of us keel over?” he demanded. “If you’ll listen to me 
for once, Mac, we’ll take them up to the Park in the fine 
fresh air and bu’st them with rocks—thrown! I’m not 
saying we’ve done such a hell of a lot so far in this in¬ 
vestigation but we’d do less laid out cold and stiff!” 

“Well do the spell-binders—of the losing party—tell 
us the town is going to the devil when we depend on the 
likes of you, that’s afraid of a child’s toy, to protect us if 
we drop a cigarette or coax the stove along with a bit of 
kerosene!” retorted McCarty, adding with naive incon¬ 
sistency : “That wop ain’t carting poison gas around with 
him in ten-cent balloons, but I’m going to be sure, any¬ 
how.” 

A clatter on the steps interrupted the debate and the 
swarthy vendor of the afternoon appeared with a round, 
porous loaf and a pale, bulbous cheese unwrapped be¬ 
neath his arm. 


THE BLUE BALLOON 


185 


“Joe’s out.” He jerked his thumb toward the table. 
“Write da ord’ on da slate an’ bime-by he bring it.” 

“ Tis not coal nor ice we want, Tony, but some of your 
balloons, a lot of them,” McCarty replied. “You know 
the kid that delivers the papers over at the New Queen’s 
Mall ? He told us where to find you, for they’re giving a 
child’s party where we work and we’ve got to have the 
balloons right away.” 

“How many?” Tony deposited the bread and cheese on 
the table with a thump and proceeded eagerly to business. 
“Fine-a balloon, only fifteen-a cent—!” 

“A dime was- what you were asking this afternoon 
and a dime you’ll get now!” McCarty announced with 
decision. “How many have you there?” 

The Italian shrugged philosophically and counted on 
his grimy fingers. 

“Twenta-two.” He looked up with a grimace. 
“Bad-a biz to-day!” 

“We’ll take the lot,” declared his customer. “Tie the 
stems of them together in two bunches if you can. 
Here’s your money.” 

The bargain was soon concluded- and they sallied forth 
with their burden, but it excited so much comment, 
chiefly of a humorous nature, that McCarty himself was 
glad to subside in the depths of a taxi encountered on a 
side-street. 

“Don’t sit all over me!” he warned his companion ir¬ 
ritably as they started anew. “You’ll be bu’sting the 
damn things before we get home! Is it grinning the 
chauffeur is, the blockhead?” 

“’Tis two lunatics he thinks he’s driving!” Dennis 
averred gloomily. “He’d grin with the other side of his 
mouth if he knew he was carrying a load of sudden death, 


186 


ANNIHILATION 


maybe!—I’ll thank you to move over yourself, Timothy 
McCarty, and not be poking them gas-bags in my 
face!” 

Thereafter conversation languished until they drew up 
before the door of McCarty’s rooms. Monsieur Girard, 
the dealer in antiques, came to the door of his shop and 
raised his withered hands heaven-ward at this latest 
demonstration of his neighbor’s eccentricity, but McCarty 
vouchsafed him only a curt nod and then followed Dennis l 
who was gingerly ascending the stairs, guarding his cargo 
with almost maternal solicitude. 

In the living-room he deposited it in the middle of the 
floor and opened the windows wide before turning on the 
light. The balloons rose slowly ceilingward in a varie¬ 
gated cluster and he made a wild dive to secure them. 

“Tie your bunch to the arm of the chair,” McCarty 
directed. “We’ll start with mine. Hold them till I get 
out my pen-knife and jab it into one.” 

Dennis shut his eyes tightly and holding his breath ex¬ 
tended his long arm until the joints cracked but a sharp 
pop like the shot of a miniature revolver made him gasp, 
forgetting his caution. He opened his eyes to behold 
one of the balloons hanging, a mere deflated wisp, at the 
end of its stick. 

“Nothing but plain air,” McCarty commented. “ ’Tis 
not gassed you are, is it, Denny?” 

“Not yet,” replied Dennis with a palpable reservation. 
“You’ve twenty-one left, though!” 

“We’ll make short work of them!” McCarty jabbed a 
second balloon with his knife and the ensuing report was 
productive of a like harmless result. 

Thereafter the air was for a space filled with a rapid 
succession of small detonations. When it was over and 


THE BLUE BALLOON 


187 


not a balloon was left intact Dennis’ apprehension gave 
place to disgust. 

“ ’Tis in our second childhood we are!” he declared. 
“Whatever put it into your head that the toy balloon had 
anything to do with the girl’s death—!” 

But McCarty was not listening. He had drawn from 
his pocket the shrivelled shred of rubber on its fragment 
of stick and was smoothing it out thoughtfully between 
his fingers. All at once he straightened. 

“Denny, that first balloon we stuck the knife into was 
red, wasn’t it ?” 

“Sure it was!” Denny looked his surprise. 

“And the second was blue and the third green?” 

“I disremember,—but what of it?” 

“Look at them;! Stretch them out and see if they’ve 
changed color since!” McCarty’s tones shook with excite¬ 
ment and Dennis caught the infection. He drew the limp 
rubber out and scrutinized each torn balloon in turn, then 
shook his head. 

“There’s nothing different about them that I can see! 
What are you getting at?” 

“Just this! When I picked this up it was blue, as blue 
as that second one we broke, and look at it now!” The 
rubber wisp he held out was a greenish-gray mottled with 
brown spots which were already disintegrating. 
“Denny, the others didn’t change color because ’twas just 
air they were filled with but this is different; it’s rotting 
before our eyes! ’Twas this child’s toy held the poison 
gas that killed Lucette!” 


CHAPTER XV 


MIDNIGHT MARAUDERS 

npHE litter of wrecked balloons was cleared away and 
the one which had changed color with such sinister 
significance was carefully deposited in an empty tin 
cracker box. With pipe and cigar alight Dennis and 
McCarty were discussing the latest development, their 
fatigue forgotten in their renewed zeal. 

“There’s an old guy I know living far uptown that’s 
a wizard about chemistry,” McCarty observed, neglecting 
to mention that the “wizard” had an interesting police 
record. “I’ll take the box with*, what’s left of that blue 
balloon in it up to him, come morning, but we’ll not 
breathe a word of it to another living soul! ’Tis some¬ 
body on the Mall or with easy access to it that’s walking 
around with two murders and a disappearance on the 
conscience of him, maybe giving us fair words every day 
and the grand laugh behind our backs. We don’t know 
who it is and till we do we’ll be telling nothing to any of 
them.” 

“True for you!” Dennis nodded. “I’m thinking, 
though, ’tis on the north side of the street you’ll find your 
man, Mac, for everything that’s happened hit the three 
households on the south side; Orbit’s valet and Goddard’s 
son and now Mrs. Bellamy’s nurse-girl. The only two 
houses opposite that are occupied, since the Burminsters 
are still away, are Five and Seven—the Sloanes’ and the 
188 


MIDNIGHT MARAUDERS 


189 


Parsons’. We’ll not be forgetting that Swede Otto who 
beat it away from the Sloanes’ at the first alarm and 
we’ve not so much as crossed the doorsill there yet. 
Then there’s the Parsons, too. They hold themselves 
better than their neighbors and have them that are next 
to royalty, no less, for company and still and all they have 
an ex-convict and suspected poisoner at that to buttle for 
them. If I was that ambassador I’d have thought twice 
before I stayed to lunch!” 

“They’ve a houseful of crooks, ‘ex’ or no,” McCarty 
asserted, regarding his cigar thoughtfully. “I got Por¬ 
ter right, but ’twas the inspector first gave me the wire 
without knowing it when he said the housemaid and page 
boy looked familiar, as if he’d seen them somewhere be¬ 
fore but couldn’t place them. Where would he have seen 
them, if ’twas not at headquarters or on trial? Andre 
put the last touch to it this afternoon, though,” 

“Orbit’s cook?” 

“He did that. Do you mind when I asked him if he 
knew the cook over at Parsons’ he said it was a ‘she,’ a 
great big woman with three moles on her cheek? Jen¬ 
nie Malone shoved about twenty thousand dollars’ worth 
of the queer in the best stores of the city for the Carpen¬ 
ter counterfeiting gang before she was pinched. She’d 
never have been caught at all if it hadn’t been for those 
three moles that gave her away. Ever since Andre tipped 
me off I’ve been asking myself what was the rest of that 
household like, and did they have more reasons than 
one for keeping the neighbors at arm’s length?” 

Dennis sat forward suddenly and took his pipe from 
his mouth. 

“Do you mean the Parsonses themselves are not on the 
level?” he demanded. “The old gentleman, with his 


190 


ANNIHILATION 


grand charities and his pious talk, the old maid sister and 
the young niece? Do you think the old gentleman is 
cracked, maybe, and turned murderer wholesale? Is it 
him that’s planted a hotbed of crime right there in the 
Mall?” 

“Somebody has,” McCarty shrugged. “Of course the 
two murders happened in Orbit’s house, if ’twas there 
Hughes got his do§e of Calabar bean, and the Goddard 
kid disappeared from next door—” 

Dennis snorted. 

“Would Orbit be killing the valet that give him per¬ 
fect service all these years till he can’t so much as put on 
his own shirt for himself, no less murdering a nurse- 
girl, and running off with a boy? None in the Bellamy 
household could have had a hand in Lucette’s death and 
it stands to reason Goddard didn’t kidnap his own son! 
Orbit’s likely to be under fire now and come in for a 
lot of notoriety and maybe—well, there’s others under 
that roof besides himself!” 

“I’ve been turning that over in my mind, too.” Mc¬ 
Carty took a last pull at his cigar and laid the stub in the 
tray. “We’ve put in this evening so far breaking bal¬ 
loons and that’s about all we’ve been doing since first this 
case started; opening up one gas-bag after another and 
getting nothing but empty air! I’d like a chance to go 
through the Parsons house and Orbit’s too, with no one 
the wiser, and if you were not such a clumsy, heavy- 
footed galoot, Denny, we’d be paying them a little visit 
to-night without leaving our cards.” 

“ ‘Clumsy,’ is it!” Dennis repeated indignantly. “Me 
that’s been scaling walls and ladders since you tramped 
your first beat! We’ve broke in an empty house there in 
broad day and we can get in the others at night just as 


MIDNIGHT MARAUDERS 


191 


easy, in spite of what newfangled burglar alarms they 
may have. I’m on to most of them through fighting fires, 
thanks be! Since the first night we went through those 
gates I’ve felt in the soul of me that sooner or later we’d 
be marauding in there like a couple of second-story 
workers and now it’s come! If instead of Parsons and 
his convicts it should be one of those Frenchmen or the 
Chink in Orbit’s house, we’ll spot him!” 

“The first thing we spot will be the restaurant around 
the corner. ’Tis near ten o’clock and we’ve had no din¬ 
ner,” McCarty rejoined. “We won’t be showing up 
near the Mall till midnight or after and we’ve a lot to 
plan first.” 

Their meal finished they returned again to the 
rooms. McCarty paused for a moment in the doorway 
of the living-room, a peculiar expression crossing his 
face. 

“Sit you down and light your pipe, Denny.” He 
threw open the closet door as he spoke. “I’ll be with 
you in a minute. Now where—?” 

He left the closet and went into the bedroom. Den¬ 
nis paused in the act of tamping his pipe to listen open- 
mouthed, for an unaccustomed sound came to his ears. 
McCarty was whistling, wheezily and off-key, but there 
was something oddly reminiscent in the simple, insist¬ 
ently reiterated measure; moreover McCarty never in¬ 
dulged in that or any other form of melodious expression 
unless in a blatant attempt at dissimulation. What was 
he doing, anyway, that he didn’t want his own pal to get 
on to? He’d opened and shut the door of his clothes- 
closet and now he was in the bathroon, still trying to , 
whistle that funny little tune, almost like the ones Molly’s 
kid learned at the kindergarten! 


192 ANNIHILATION 

Dennis returned to his pipe, as McCarty reentered the 
room. 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked. 

McCarty reddened. 

“I did not, but no matter,” he replied shortly. “I un¬ 
earthed an old kit of burglars’ tools that I took once off 
of Black Matt, that’ll maybe come in handy and here’s 
a revolver for you” 

“I’ve no use for it!” remarked Dennis hastily, regard¬ 
ing the weapon with small favor. “Something short and 
hefty is more in my line, with no trigger to go off un¬ 
expected and send me to the chair!” 

“Do you think I’d trust you with it if it was loaded?” 
his host retorted. “ Tis only to throw a bluff if we’re 
cornered. We’ll be wearing handkerchiefs over our faces 
like movie burglars, for whatever comes we don’t want 
to be recognized. It don’t matter what tracks we leave 
behind us as long as we get clear ourselves so we’ll take 
these nippers to cut every wire we see.” 

“And to-morrow there’ll be a new job for us, tracking 
our own selves!” Dennis grinned, and then his face 
sobered. “We’ve the hardest job on our hands that ever 
we tackled, Mac, with this inhuman devil to lay low!” 

“I’ve a creepy feeling that there’s more than him at 
work.” McCarty dropped the tools he had been sorting 
and stared reflectively into space. “I don’t know how 
to put it, but it seems as if there was something power¬ 
ful and as evil as a spirit from Hell itself that’s helping 
the wretch in his destruction! He’s getting bolder, 
Denny, he’ll over-reach himself yet. If we could figure 
who’s to be the next we could close in on him!” 

“ ’Tis too deep for me.” Dennis shook his head. “Is 
there a glass-cutter and a lump of putty in that layout?” 


MIDNIGHT MARAUDERS 193 


For more than an hour they discussed the forthcoming 
adventure. At midnight they left the apartment and took 
a roundabout way across town to the New Queen’s Mall. 
Waiting until Dave Hollis, the night watchman, had 
strolled to the other end of the block, they let themselves 
in at the west gate and slipped into the court between 
the Burminster mansion and the Sloane’s smaller resi¬ 
dence next door. The original plan had been to visit 
Orbit’s house first, but a light still glowed from the lower 
floor, indicating that the host and his guest, Sir Philip 
Devereux, had not yet retired. The Parsons establish¬ 
ment, however, was decorously dark, and they proceeded 
to its rear. There they paused to adjust handkerchiefs 
over the lower part of their faces and Dennis took stock 
of the situation. There was no moon and even the stars 
were partly obscured by scudding clouds, while the rising 
wind that swirled through the alley-like spaces between 
the houses betokened a coming storm. 

“ ’Tis the equinox, no less, that’s on the way!” Den¬ 
nis shivered more from nervousness than chill and his 
voice came in a muffled whisper from beneath the hand¬ 
kerchief. The flashlight in his hand wavered as he di¬ 
rected its ray against the house wall. Look at that, 
now! If the old gentleman keeps any valuables here he 
must think that the crooks under his roof are enough 
protection from them outside, for he s still depending on 
the old Kip electric system, that a babe in arms could 
disconnect! . . . Get you to the mouth of the alley, Mac, 
and keep an eye out for the watchman.” 

McCarty obeyed. When, after an interval during 
which Hollis had passed twice, he heard a cautious hiss 
behind him and returned, it was to observe loose wires 
dangling innocuously from the wall and a yawning aper- 


194 


ANNIHILATION 


ture in one of the windows where Dennis had removed 
a whole pane of glass. 

“I made a good job of it,” the latter whispered com¬ 
placently. “The telephone is cut, too, and the inside 
burglar attachment. The old gentleman’s not such a 
fool after all, for he’s got an installation that once set 
would warn him if a window or outside door was touched, 
but I put it out of business. Take off your shoes like 
I did and then come on; I’ve fixed the catch already.” 

He raised the window inch by inch while McCarty re¬ 
moved his shoes, tied the laces together and hung them 
about his neck. Then Dennis crawled over the sill, drew 
his bulkier companion in after him and flashed his light 
quickly about. 

“There’s the door. You said not to bother with any 
rooms downstairs except the old gentleman’s private 
study or sitting-room if he’s got one, didn’t you?” 

“Yes. I can see the foot of the back stairs at the end 
of this hall, so shut off that light!” McCarty whispered 
in response. “You’re breathing loud enough to wake the 
dead!” 

They fumbled their way to the stairs and up. The 
silence was oppressive and to the amateur house-breakers 
it seemed to hold an ever-increasing menace. They 
padded along in their stockinged feet through the wide 
hall, pausing at each doorway as McCarty directed his 
own electric torch within, but only stately drawing-rooms 
and a dining-hall huge enough for a banquet met their 
gaze. 

“Wouldn’t you think he’d buy more furniture?” Mc¬ 
Carty forgot their equivocal situation for the moment as 
he gazed disparagingly down a long portrait gallery, 
where Cavalier and Puritan forebears of the Parsons 


MIDNIGHT MARAUDERS 195 


family looked down upon a few chairs placed at wide 
intervals against the wall. “There are not seats enough 
in all the parlors to hold a decent funeral and what there 
is is old and dull like the junk in Girard’s antique shop!” 

“Maybe ’tis worth as much and more,” Dennis sug¬ 
gested sagely. “I’m not facing jail this minute, though, 
for a chance to look at it!—There’s a smaller room be¬ 
yond that might be the old gentleman’s study.” 

He had guessed truly, though the apartment in which 
they found themselves more closely resembled a business 
office. A roll-top desk, a swivel chair, filing cases and 
a solidly compact safe met their gaze; the rugs, the uphol¬ 
stered furniture and tall bookcases which completed the 
appointments formed merely an incongruous background. 

“Unless you’re up in safe-blowing, which I doubt, I 
don’t see as this room is going to tell us anything!” Den¬ 
nis remarked. “Them keys that you stuffed your 
pockets with will do no good.” 

“Won’t they?” McCarty chuckled grimly and strode 
toward the nearest filing case. “Hold your light steady, 
Denny; fireproof this thing may be, but all the sections 
of it open with the one lock and I could pick it with a 
buttonhook!” 

The lock confirmed his opinion by yielding to the third 
key tried, and the various sections filled with an orderly 
arrangement of ledgers and documents were at their dis¬ 
posal. 

“Look at the fine, neat writing of him.” Dennis was 
rummaging in the topmost one. “What’s this? ’Tis a 
lot of typed stuff with his own notes on the margin and 
headed: ‘Report. Chris Porter, 1913-1920.’ He’s wrote 
under it: ‘Reasonable doubt. Pardon essential’; then, 
‘Pardon granted, help needed.’ ” 


196 


ANNIHILATION 


“Give it to me!” McCarty demanded. “Are there any 
more like it? These ledgers have nothing in them but 
notes on charity cases.” 

“Here’s another; something about a reformatory, and 
in his own writing: 'Weak not vicious. Useful if right 
influence.’ It’s headed: 'Danny Sayre, 17.’—-This one 
is about that Jennie Malone—” 

“Let me have them all!” McCarty interrupted. “Don’t 
you see what they are? The criminal records of all the 
hired help! Take the next section, after.” 

A pause broken only by the rustling of papers ensued 
and then Dennis exclaimed in an awestruck whisper: 

“Mac! Here’s a lot of notes about ways of killing, 
all mixed up with religion, and—and among ’em’s poison 
gas! Flourine, hydrogen and H 2 F 2 —!” 

“Grab it!” McCarty hastily thrust the documents he had 
been examining into his pockets and closed the filing case. 
“Grab all the notes and come along; we’ll need look no 
further in this house!” 

Yet on the way to the door he paused and ran the pin¬ 
point of light along the rows of books in their towering* 
cases. They appeared to be volumes of reference on 
widely diversified subjects, from hygiene and sanitation 
to law and religion; all were arranged in meticulous order, 
save on a lower shelf where the huge tomes of an ency¬ 
clopaedia had been stacked helter-skelter. One volume, 
that labeled: “Bronze—Cephalaspis,” protruded from 
the row as though too hastily replaced and McCarty 
stooped on a sudden impulse and drew it out. The mo¬ 
rocco covers fell apart and the book opened midway, 
where a thin, silvery, leaf-shaped object had been inserted 
as a mark. 

At a muttered injunction Dennis held his light trained 


MIDNIGHT MARAUDERS 197 

upon it and McCarty’s eyes traveled down the page then 
stopped and for a long minute there was no sound except 
their mingled breaths. Then the latter whispered: 

“Listen, Denny; here’s a queer one!—Tt is used in the 
form of an emulsion by the natives of Africa, as an ordeal 
when persons are suspected of witchcraft. It is believed 
that if the suspect vomits it he is innocent; if it is re¬ 
tained and death occurs, he is guilty.’ ” 

“A mighty sensible arrangement, considering!” Dennis 
commented. “If he’s guilty, and I’d not put witchcraft 
past them heathen, they’re saved the bother and expense 
of an execution! . . . But what in the name of common 
sense has it got to do with what’s been going on here in 
the Mall?” 

“Nothing.” McCarty tore out the page, wrapped it 
about the leaf-like bookmark and pocketed it. “Nothing 
whatever, except that the stuff they make the suspects 
take is Calabar bean!” 

He replaced the mutilated volume and they stole from 
the room, making their way down the stairs and back to 
the open window, through which they had entered. The 
silence was unbroken and when they had crawled through 
the aperture and out into the wind-swept court McCarty 
leaned against the w~all balancing himself precariously on 
one foot as he drew on a shoe, while Dennis softly 
closed the window. 

“We’ll not be breaking into Orbit’s ?” the latter asked, 
as he followed his companion’s example. “Them notes 
about poison gas, the marked page telling of Calabar 
bean, and the life history of the crooks he surrounds him¬ 
self with—if Benjamin Parsons isn’t the man we’re look¬ 
ing for I’ll eat my hat!” 

“Then maybe you’d better be working up an appetite 


198 


ANNIHILATION 


against the future!” suggested McCarty dryly. “There's 
no more proof against him than there was against that 
Otto Lindholm and if the lights are out over at Orbit’s 
I’m going to take a chance!” 

The miniature palace across the way was in total dark¬ 
ness, but its marble front gleamed whitely in the faint 
glimmer of starlight before a wind-driven cloud obscured 
them again. Once more escaping the vigilance of the 
night watchman they crossed the street and passed down 
the opening next to the Goddard house where the glow 
from all the upper windows bore mute testimony once 
more to the sustained anxiety and heartbreaking suspense 
within. 

McCarty halted his companion before the little side 
door. 

“I’ll wait here while you go> around back and cut any 
wires you find,” he directed. “The bulge of the con¬ 
servatory hides me from the street and ’tis not likely any 
of the Goddard household will be looking out their win¬ 
dows. What with the murder and then company and 
all, Ching Lee may have forgot to fasten this door proper 
on the inside, and we can force it easier than the iron 
grill outside the rear windows. Don’t be all night, 
Denny!” 

Dennis glanced rather dubiously up at the next house, 
then out to the sidewalk, but he hurried away without a 
word and McCarty took out his keys and waited. 

The strangely coincidental facts he had unearthed in 
Benjamin Parsons’ study gave him much food for re¬ 
flection, but long experience made him more wary of 
jumping to conclusions than his optimistic colleague. 
Parsons was known as an eminent and practical philan¬ 
thropist; what if he’d taken those ex-convicts into his 


MIDNIGHT MARAUDERS 


199 


home to reform them at first hand ? It would be natural 
enough for him to keep reports on their past records. 
Calabar bean had been prominently mentioned in the 
papers in connection with the murder of his neighbor’s 
valet; mightn’t he have been interested sufficiently to look 
it up as a rarity? The notes on poison gas ‘'mixed up 
with religion” were more difficult to explain, but then 
only Dennis had seen them yet and—where the devil was 
Denny, anyway ? 

McCarty craned his neck to stare into the darkness to¬ 
ward the rear but no deeper shadow moved and no sound 
came to him but the moaning swish of the wind. Denny 
had maybe found a burglar alarm that it wasn’t so easy 
to put out of business! 

Hollis pounded heavily past on the sidewalk, then re¬ 
turned and went on again and still there was no sign of 
his erstwhile companion. All at once the bolts of the 
door against which he leaned were drawn back and Mc¬ 
Carty had barely time to spring aside and flatten him¬ 
self in the corner of the out-curving glass conservatory 
wall when the door itself swung inward. 

He held his breath but no one appeared. At last a 
low hiss assailed his ears. 

“ ’Tis you!” Mingled relief and exasperation lent em¬ 
phasis to his whispered ejaculation. “For what did you 
play such a damn fool trick? I near landed on the flat 
of my back—” 

“Forget it!” Denny interrupted with unaccustomed 
tone. “Come on in before the watchman passes again! 
You’d never have got past these bolts only I found a 
way in through the little pantry ventilator; you couldn’t 
have squeezed through it in a year!—Now, which way? 
Is it up to the floor where the Frenchmen and them two 


200 


ANNIHILATION 


heathen sleep that we’ll be going? Nobody’s stirring.” 

He had closed the door and noiselessly shot the bolt. 
McCarty responded: 

“I want to* make sure; Orbit said he wasn’t a good 
sleeper, you’ll remember, and if he could rest easy in his 
bed this night, with that poor girl murdered under his 
roof not so many hours past, he’s not the man I took him 
for! We’ll go up the back stairs and then sneak along 
the hall to his door. Thanks be, we know the lay of this 
house!” 

They crept silently through the card-room and past the 
pantries to the back stairs, where they stopped and re¬ 
moved their shoes again before venturing upward. No 
faintest ray of light shone from under any door on the 
floor above, but from- behind one on the left deep and 
regular stertorous sounds denoted that one at least of the 
household, doubtless the distinguished arrival of the previ¬ 
ous evening, slumbered; unhaunted by morbid visions. 

Before the door of Orbit’s own bedroom they halted 
but no sound came from within and at length McCarty 
motioned to his companion and tiptoed into the sitting- 
room adjoining. 

“You’ve been in that bedroom before.” His lips barely 
formed the words close to Dennis’ ear. “You’ll know 
how the furniture’s placed, so as not to fall over it. Go 
in and see is he asleep; I’ve our story all fixed if he 
should jump you.” 

“I’ve not!” Dennis retorted in palpable reluctance. 
“Moreover there’s a queer, sweetish smell on the air; 
don’t you get it? If he or anything else in there jumps 
me I hope you’ll get busy first and explain afterwards!” 

He left McCarty’s side and the latter heard his feet 
pad softly off toward the connecting door between the 


MIDNIGHT MARAUDERS 


201 


rooms. A pause ensued, then came the footsteps again 
but fainter now. After a moment a low light flashed. 
It wavered, steadied, went out suddenly and a dull thud 
came to McCarty’s ears as the electric torch itself struck 
the thick pile of the rug. He started forward as Den¬ 
nis’ low, shaking voice was borne upon the silence. 

“For the love of the saints, come here, Mac! Some¬ 
body’s been before us!” 


CHAPTER XVI 


A QUESTION ANSWERED 

F OR an instant McCarty’s stout legs wabbled beneath 
him, then he drew himself together and pressing the 
button of his own flashlight he strode over the sill. 

A strange scene presented itself to his staring eyes. 
Dennis was clinging weakly to an upright post at the 
foot of the heavily carved bed upon which Orbit was 
lying. His firmly molded chin was relaxed and the 
sunken, closed eyes were mere blotches of shadow in the 
grayish pallor of his face. The pajama jacket was open 
at his throat and his arms were flung above his head as 
though helplessness had come upon him in the effort to 
protect himself from an attack. As he noted these things 
McCarty became aware of the pungent, sweetish odor 
that assailed his own nostrils. 

“Chloroform!” he gasped, pointing to a small bottle 
which stood upon the bedstand. “Isn’t that a towel 
on the pillow beside his head? Throw it into the 
corner, Denny, and then get back into the other room, 
quick!” 

Galvanized into life Dennis obeyed, retrieving his flash¬ 
light as he went. McCarty waited only long enough to 
open the two windows wide before rejoining him,. 

“Aren’t we going to raise an alarm ?” Dennis demanded 
excitedly, but McCarty lowered his own voice to a whis¬ 
per once more. 


202 


A QUESTION ANSWERED 


203 


“We are not, to get ourselves accused! We’re going 
to beat it out the way we came as fast as the Lord’ll let 
us. Don’t open your mouth again till we get beyond the 
gates! Sure, the devil himself is let loose!” 

Down the stairs they went, through the pantries and 
lower front hall to the card-room. The distance seemed 
interminable and every footstep resounded maddeningly 
in their nerve-shaken ears, but they did not pause until 
they reached the little side door and Dennis had shot the 
bolts back. 

“Wait till we put on our shoes again,” McCarty ad¬ 
monished. “There’s no room to do it out in that alley 
and we’re safe enough now, but hurry!” 

Shod once more, they stole out, closing the door noise¬ 
lessly behind them. The watchman had passed on in the 
direction of the east gate and they sped to the opposite 
one, passing through it just before he turned. 

All desire for speech seemed to have left Dennis and 
they walked northward for several blocks before Mc¬ 
Carty broke the silence. 

“I suppose you think ’twas queer we didn’t take that 
heaven-sent opportunity to search the house without 
Orbit, at least, to interrupt us, Denny, but there was no 
telling how long he’d been under that chloroform nor 
when he’d come out of it, and we could not say we’d 
scared away whoever did it to him or we would not 
have sneaked in ourselves.” 

“How do you know he wasn’t dead?” Dennis’ tone 
held a volume of reproach. 

“I saw the chest of him rise and fall regular with his 
breathing, and a whiff like that could not put him out 
for the count!” McCarty declared impatiently. “Didn’t 
I open the windows on him myself, and tell you to take 


204 ANNIHILATION 

away the towel that must have slipped down from off 
his face?” 

“ 'Twas still damp with that stuff!” Dennis muttered 
with a shudder. 

“And chloroform evaporates quicker than anything 
else I know!” exclaimed his companion. “That shows it 
must have been given to him the minute, almost, before 
we went upstairs! The sitting-room looked all right to 
me; did you happen to notice whether anything was up¬ 
set or not where he was ?” 

“I did not!” Dennis averred. “I’d the shock of my 
life when my light flashed over his face! If he’s found 
dead come morning I’ll feel as if I’d murdered him my¬ 
self and not a wink will I sleep nor a free breath will I 
draw till I know he’s all right!” 

But when McCarty’s rooms were reached again and 
the desultory discussion was renewed it was Dennis him¬ 
self in whom exhausted nature first was revealed and he 
sank deeply into healthy slumber. His host, however, sat 
hunched in his armchair till dawn, smoking innumerable 
cigars and staring through narrowed eyes into the turbid 
atmosphere of the familiar room as though he beheld 
strange and evil things. 

Finally he stretched himself out wearily beside Dennis 
and dropped into an uneasy slumber, to be awakened by 
the sharp ringing of the telephone. When he turned 
from it, after receiving the frenzied message, it was to 
find his guest draped in his own shabby bathrobe, wait¬ 
ing with morbid expectancy for the news. 

“Is Orbit dead—?” 

“He is not! He’s got the inspector fair wild with his 
tale of being drugged in the night and on top of it old 


A QUESTION ANSWERED 205 


Benjamin Parsons reports a robbery! Both the watch¬ 
men are fired temporarily and lads from headquarters 
put in their place/’ McCarty retorted succinctly. “It’s 
a nice, peaceful day you’ll be having of it at the fire house 
while I face the music!” 

Dennis gulped with relief. 

“Was anything took from Orbit’s house, did the in¬ 
spector say?” 

“He’d no time, but I’m thinking he’ll be on his way 
here as soon as he can pacify the two latest victims of 
outrage there in the Mall. Moreover, if you’re going to 
stop for Brian to shave you after breakfast, it will be a 
miracle that you’re not late for duty!” 

Dennis disappeared promptly into the bathroom and 
McCarty gathered up the documents and the page torn 
from the encyclopaedia purloined from the Parsons house, 
and stowed them carefully away before making his own 
hasty toilet. They ate a sketchy breakfast together at 
the accustomed restaurant and then separated, McCarty 
returning to his rooms with a sheaf of newspapers to 
await the coming of his superior. 

From the front page of the first paper the pictured face 
of Horace Goddard stared out at him, big-eyed and wist¬ 
fully alert, and the caption beneath announced that Mr. 
Eustace Goddard offered twenty-five thousand dollars’ 
reward for information which would lead to the recovery 
of his son. A second article, brief but placed in sig¬ 
nificant juxtaposition to it, declared that no further prog¬ 
ress had been made in the investigation into the death of 
the valet, Alfred Hughes, who had succumbed to the ef¬ 
fects of the little-known poison physostigmine soon after 
leaving the residence of his employer Mr. Henry Orbit 


206 


ANNIHILATION 


in the New Queen’s Mall six days before, but the au¬ 
thorities expected to make an important arrest in connec¬ 
tion with it in the immediate future. 

Inspector Druet’s impatient ring brought McCarty 
quickly to his feet and as the former sprang up the stairs 
he flung open the living-room door. 

“Mac, what the devil have you been doing ?” 

“Me, inspector?” McCarty’s face was a study, but he 
had misunderstood. 

“Yes! Why weren’t you on the job? They’ve raised 
hell in the Mall last night while I was chasing up some 
false clues about the Goddard case and I haven’t laid 
eyes on you since the medical examiner’s assistant ar¬ 
rived at Orbit’s yesterday!” 

“I’ve been getting a bit of sleep, this morning,” Mc¬ 
Carty replied evasively. “Did you see Parsons? You 
told me he’d been robbed,—did he say what was stole 
from him?” 

“No. That’s the queer part of it. When he phoned 
to headquarters he was anxious to talk but as soon as I 
got to his house he began to hedge. A whole pane had 
been removed from one of the rear windows, and the 
telephone and Kip alarm system wires were cut, but he 
couldn’t show me that anything in his study had been 
disturbed, and although he insisted that some documents 
had been stolen from his filing case he would tell me 
nothing about them except that some were notes for a 
book he was writing and the rest of a highly personal 
nature.” 

“If ’twas nothing of money value I’d not be bothering 
about it,” McCarty suggested hurriedly. “He got off 
light, considering what’s happened at other houses on 
that block.—Look at Orbit! Wasn’t he drugged be- 


A QUESTION ANSWERED 207 


sides, to say nothing of the murder committed there?” 

“Yes, but nothing was stolen from him. He tells me he 
took a bromide to try to sleep, for the shock of the girl’s 
death in the afternoon had about made him go to pieces. 
He was just dozing off when he thought he heard some¬ 
thing in the room. He couldn’t be sure and before he 
could make a move a towel was clapped over his face; 
the next thing he knew he woke up mighty sick. He 
would have thought the whole thing was a nightmare, 
only there was the towel saturated with chloroform in a 
corner of the room, the bottle itself on a stand beside 
his bed and the windows open wider than he had left 
them. The rest of the household, including Sir Philip 
Devereux and his valet, Harry Blake, weren’t even dis¬ 
turbed. There’s no sign of how the burglar got in, ex¬ 
cept that the side door opening from the card-room was 
found unbolted this morning, though Ching Lee swears 
he fastened it as usual last night, and the telephone wires 
outside the house were cut, just as Parsons’ were.” 

“Well, if Orbit has recovered and nothing was taken 
there’s been small harm done there, either,” McCarty 
commented, adding: “Is Sir Philip going to stay on at 
Orbit’s?” 

“He sails Saturday. I should think he’d find Orbit’s 
kind of hospitality a little strenuous, although he seems 
to be a fine old sport!—Mac, what are we to do? I’m 
about at the end of my rope, and though the happenings 
last night don’t mean actual tragedy they show how little 
the scoundrels back of these crimes are afraid of being 
found out!” 

In the clear morning light the inspector’s face seemed 
to have aged years and McCarty’s heart smote him. 

“Oh, I don’t know, sir,” he said. “If just papers that 


208 


ANNIHILATION 


were useful to no one but himself were taken from Par¬ 
sons and nothing at all from Orbit maybe some one just 
pulled off those two stunts to throw you off the track of 
the two murders and the kid’s disappearance.—Have you 
heard from Martin?” 

“He’s back and Blaisdell the artist came with him. 
Blaisdell’s at Goddard’s now, offering whatever help he 
can give, but he hasn’t seen Horace since the boy came 
to his studio to bid him good-by; I talked to him and I’d 
swear he’s on the level. It’s the most infernal mys¬ 
tery—!” 

“Has the autopsy been performed yet on that girl 
Lucette?” McCarty’s tones had lowered. 

“Just an hour ago. Mac, it’s got the whole medical 
bureau going! The examiner agrees with Hr. Allonby, 
but he can’t go any further! The kind of gas that was 
used is a new one on them, deadlier than any sort the 
war produced and they’ve sent to Washington to find out 
if anything is known of it there.—Thanks.” Inspector 
Druet accepted the cigar which the other proffered and 
after it was alight he added: “Flourine gas is one of 
its component parts—” 

“Flourine!” McCarty paused, with the match halfway 
to his own cigar. 

“Yes, but there are other properties with it; flourine 
burns, you know, but there was no trace of that on the 
girl’s face, although her lungs were seared. How it was 
ever forced on her is beyond me, and the Chief is rag¬ 
ing like a caged bear!” He shook his head dejectedly. 
“If we don’t show results mighty soon I’m due for a 
transfer and that means the beginning of the end; but I 
don’t feel that so keenly as I do my sense of failure! I 
had a chance for quick action when that valet was poi- 


A QUESTION ANSWERED 209 

soned, but now that little boy and the fine young French 
girl—God, it seems as though I had been criminally 
negligent!” 

“Not a bit of it, inspector!” McCarty exclaimed ear¬ 
nestly. “It’s just like I was saying to Denny; we’re up 
against the worst case and the cleverest murdering devil 
in the history of the department and we’ll not be laying 
him by the heels by working along behind him. It’s 
from what he’s going to pull in the future that we’ll get 
him, and then only through out-guessing him. Who’ll 
be the next? That’s*the question we’ve got to answer.” 

When, after threshing the situation over thoroughly 
once more, the inspector finally took his departure, Mc¬ 
Carty put in a long hour studying the papers taken from 
Parsons’ filing case. The collection of reports, evidently 
transcriptions from court and police records, besides the 
names of Jennie Malone, Chris Porter and the boy Danny 
Sayre, comprised those of Bert Ferris, Hannah Cray 
and Bessie Dillon. Ferris had been convicted of insur¬ 
ance fraud, but Parsons had annotated the report: 
“Great provocation through need for dependents.” Han¬ 
nah Cray was a shoplifter and Bessie Dillon a confidence 
worker and after the names of both women had been 
written: “Reform assured.” 

The manuscript proved to be a compilation of scat¬ 
tered and disconnected notes, relative to various methods 
employed in modern warfare, together with lengthy 
diatribes against the sin of organized killing. McCarty 
had little patience to peruse it. The references to flourine 
gas gave merely the formula and effect. 

Without glancing again at the article on Calabar bean, 
McCarty put the torn page away with the other papers 
but slipped the odd, silvery bookmark in his pocket. A 


210 


ANNIHILATION 


violent rainstorm was raging and taking a stout um¬ 
brella he clapped on his hat, locked the door behind him 
and descended to the street. Here he was pounced upon 
by a young man with a shock of very red hair, who had 
been lying in wait for him in Monsieur Girard’s shop 
doorway. 

“Hey, Mac, got you at last! What brought Inspector 
Druet to you so early this morning? Anything new 
turned up in that merry little three-ring circus of crime 
that is giving a continuous performance under your noses 
over at the New Queen’s Mall?” 

The taunt was a shrewdly calculated one, but McCarty 
grinned affably. 

“I see your Bulletin this morning has only the story 
of the girl’s death yesterday afternoon, Jimmie; that’s 
old stuff, now.” 

Jimmie Ballard opened his eyes and ducked confiden¬ 
tially under the shelter of McCarty’s umbrella. 

“For the love of Pete, has there been more doing?” 
he gasped. “Come across, Mac! You know I’m al¬ 
ways ready to do you a good turn! What’s up now ?” 

“We-ell,” McCarty assumed an air of troubled inde¬ 
cision. “Of course there’s no one between those gates 
would breathe a word of it to you newspaper guys and 
if I was to tell you about the two robberies it might get 
back to me. Not being regularly on the Force any more 
I’d not want the inspector to think—” 

“Two robberies!” Jimmie’s eyes shone. “Pretty! 
Mac, let me get the story through to the shop and we’ll 
have an ‘extra’ out in half an hour! I’ll keep you out 
of it, I swear—!” 

“All right, then, if you’ll do something for me after,” 
McCarty suddenly reached into his pocket and drew out 


A QUESTION ANSWERED 211 


Parsons’ bookmark. “Find out what the devil is this 
made of and ’phone me at my rooms to-night; mind you 
don’t mention it in your story or never another tip will 
you get from me!—Now, here’s what happened. . . .” 

He repeated briefly the inspector’s version of the in¬ 
cidents of the previous night and then, well satisfied, he 
continued on his way. It led him on a long and diversi¬ 
fied path through that day’s storm; to headquarters, the 
Public Library, the city’s mortuary and the laboratories 
of the university. For the first time since the inception 
of the strangely complex case he steered clear of the Mall 
and it was not until darkness had fallen that he returned 
to his rooms, rain-soaked and weary. 

Inside the living-room he felt mechanically for the 
light switch in the wall, but the button clicked futilely. 
At the same moment he lifted his nose in the air and 
sniffed sharply. 

Some one had been in his rooms again! His lights 
had been tampered with, for they were on the same cur¬ 
rent as the house next door and a ray from there was 
even now streaking faintly across the air-shaft past his 
bedroom window. Moreover there’d been nothing wrong 
with his switch the night before! Was somebody wait¬ 
ing for him? 

Aware that the feeble gas jet in the hall below was 
yet strong enough to silhouette him vaguely in its glim¬ 
mering half-light, he pulled the door shut behind him 
and whipped out his revolver. 

“Is anybody here?” His bull-throated demand cut 
the silence. “Come on, you white-livered son-of-a-gun, 
and I’ll give you the fight of your life!” 

He waited, his ears strained to catch the slightest 
sound, but none came; no stir of a foot, no whisper of 


212 


ANNIHILATION 


breathing broke the utter stillness in which the echo of 
his voice had died away and after a minute that seemed 
ages long doubt changed to certainty. 

Somebody had been there and gone; but had he gone 
far? What had been done in his rooms that he was not 
meant to see? What had the intruder left behind him 
for McCarty to blunder into in the darkness? Had a 
trap been set for him under his own roof? 

McCarty pressed his lips grimly together, his square 
jaw outthrust. Keeping his revolver still cocked and 
ready in his right hand he reached behind him with the 
other and propped his umbrella against the wall. Then 
half-stooping he advanced a step straight before him in 
the direction of the fireplace. With infinite caution and 
the delicacy of one in a maze of live wires his left hand 
groped about in the pitch blackness surrounding him, 
but it encountered only empty air. He took another step 
forward, then another. . . . 

At last! At the height of about his middle from the 
floor his fingers touched a fine cord drawn straight across 
his path, so taut that it vibrated like a harp-string be¬ 
neath a contact as light as a mere breath! Running his 
fingers along it with the light touch of a drifting feather 
he moved to the left until the cord made a sharp turn 
around the corner of his heavy desk. Once more he 
started forward. Now he was facing again toward the 
fireplace but the left side of it, and his guiding line was 
rising! It must be at the height of the mantel now, he 
must almost have reached the shelf itself! 

Moving even more cautiously, inch by inch, his fingers 
traveling with still greater delicacy, he followed the cord 
to the corner of the mantel. There his hand came in 
contact with what appeared to be a pulley, rigged in- 


A QUESTION ANSWERED 213 


geniously over the clamp of a portable lamp bracket which 
had never been fastened there before. 

If the cord were broken something on the other end 
of that pulley running under the mantel would drop; and 
then what would happen? Would the house be blown to 
bits in the explosion of some infernal machine, or some¬ 
thing fall on him from above? It had obviously been 
intended that he should break that string; but why had 
it been taken for granted that finding his lights out of 
commission he would walk straight forward from the 
doorway, instead of perhaps around the wall—? 

His matches, of course! He wouldn’t be supposed to 
stop and fumble in his clothes for any he might be carry¬ 
ing when a whole box of them were where he always 
kept them there on the mantel before him! ’Twas from 
the mantel itself, then, or just under it, that trouble could 
be looked for, if the weight on the other end of that 
pulley dropped, and that trouble would occur somewhere 
in a line with the doorway! 

Shifting his revolver to his left hand McCarty felt 
with the right for the weight dangling from the end 
of the pulley. His compressed lips widened at the cor¬ 
ners in a grim smile as he followed it up again and 
along under the edge of the mantel until his fingers met 
the cold ring of a revolver muzzle. 

So that was the answer! When the weight dropped, 
that cord, as fine and strong as fishline, which he could 
feel wound around the trigger, would snap back and from 
that muzzle would streak forth a death message, certain 
and sure! 

But not while McCarty knew it! Dropping his own 
revolver into his pocket he swiftly and skilfully disen¬ 
gaged the cord from about the trigger of the other and 


214 


ANNIHILATION 


drew it from the cradle of wire which had been strung 
over two nails driven into the underside of the mantel¬ 
shelf. Placing it upon the mantel within easy reach he 
found it but the work of a moment to jerk down the 
lamp bracket and its improvised pulley, break and haul 
in the cord and throw the whole mechanical device into 
the empty fireplace. 

Then another thought came to him. Suppose the party 
who had planned that little surprise for him were wait¬ 
ing about in the immediate vicinity, near enough to have 
seen him come in, close enough at hand to hear the 
anticipated report? Wouldn’t he be likely to come then 
to see the result for himself? Wouldn’t that be his next 
logical move? 

His next move! Since he entered the room McCarty 
had been too busy to wonder why this reception had been 
arranged for him, but now a light broke over his mind 
and he all but chuckled aloud. He’d been asking him¬ 
self and Denny a question for the last twenty-four hours 
and now by the Lord it was answered for him! 

But why should his enemy be disappointed? Why 
shouldn’t he hear that shot after all, and in coming to 
investigate, reveal his own identity? There was noth¬ 
ing above the ceiling but the loft and nothing above 
that again but the roof and the clouds that were pouring 
down rain that minute! With a sudden impulse Mc¬ 
Carty seized the revolver from the mantel, aimed it 
straight up into the air and fired, then jumped nimbly 
aside, crouching behind the great armchair. 

The echo of the shot had scarcely died away when 
there came a terrific banging upon the entrance door be¬ 
low and this time a hoarse chuckle did force its way from 
McCarty’s throat. 


A QUESTION ANSWERED 215 


That was the game, was it?—To pretend he was just 
passing and raise all the hell he could getting in, so as 
to attract attention to the fact that he came after the 
shot was fired ? Let him bang away and break the door 
down! The one who’d come up those stairs would be 
the one who had rigged up that murder machine! 

The banging gave place to a moment of silence and 
then came a mighty crash, followed by another and an¬ 
other, till at length the door fell inward with a snap of 
the lock and a rending jar, and some one sobbing harshly, 
chokingly, came bounding and scrambling up the stairs, 
preceded by a wildly darting flashlight which played un¬ 
der the living-room door. Then that door also was flung 
wide, the light swept about and a broken voice in the 
throes of mental agony howled dolorously: 

‘‘Mac! For the love of God, what’s happened you!” 

McCarty came out sheepishly from behind the chair. 

“I’ve been handling revolvers since first I went on the 
cops, Denny, with never a mischance, but when the lights 
went out on me just now all of a sudden whilst I was 
cleaning this I’ll be damned if it didn’t go off in my 
hand!” 


CHAPTER XVII 


FOREWARNED 

D ENNIS’ lacerated emotions were finally soothed and 
after an old oil lamp was resurrected from the 
store-closet and lighted he seated himself for a pipe and 
a chat, but the shock had disorganized him beyond con¬ 
centration on the case and he departed early for the fire 
house. 

McCarty had carefully kept his bulk between his visitor 
and the sight of what lay in the fireplace and the moment 
the latter went away he removed the death-dealing para¬ 
phernalia and locked it in his bedroom closet beneath a 
pile of old boots, together with the revolver. This had 
proved on examination to be a replica of his own old 
service one. How could his would-be assassin have come 
into possession of a “police positive,” a .38 manufactured 
for the department alone ? 

While he was pondering this the telephone rang and 
Jimmie Ballard’s voice came to him over the wire. 

“Say, Mac, do you know what that was you handed 
me to-clay? A silver leaf!” 

“It looked kind of like a leaf and there was a silvery 
tinge to it Jimmie, but I thought it was made of flat 
plush!” McCarty replied. “I’m no wiser than I was be¬ 
fore. What is it ?” 

“A leaf from an African silver-tree, of a species that 
grows most plentifully on Table Mountain, just back of 
216 


FOREWARNED 


217 


Cape Town; no telling how old it is, for they last for¬ 
ever if they’re not handled too much. Where did you 
get it and what has it to do with that little affair you and 
I were talking about this morning?” 

“Not a thing in the world!” McCarty avowed hastily. 
“ ’Tis just something I picked up. I’ll be thankful if 
you’ll put it in an envelope and mail it to me special de¬ 
livery, though.” 

“All right!” Jimmie laughed. “Of course it. isn’t 
important when you’ve got to have it by 'special,’ and you 
were willing to trade the best beat of the year for in¬ 
formation about it, but give me the dope on it one jump 
ahead of the other boys and I won’t ask any more. Did 
you see our extra?” 

McCarty cut short the youthful Jimmie’s enthusiasm. 
He had to stand with his back squarely to the door to 
talk into the ’phone and he didn’t know when his mys¬ 
terious visitor might return. That shot had miraculously 
not aroused the neighborhood but undoubtedly that was 
because of the noise of wind and rain. Would the au¬ 
thor of his little surprise have sufficient strength of mind 
to remain away and wait to see if the morning papers 
held any account of the possible tragedy ? 

He would, if he was one and the same with the hu¬ 
man fiend who had brought all those horrors to pass in 
the Mall, and of that McCarty was morally convinced. 
He had told Dennis and the inspector, too, that it would 
be only by out-guessing him and anticipating who his 
next victim was scheduled to be that they could hope to 
solve the mystery. Now he grinned to himself; little 
had he thought then who was elected! 

But the event of the evening made one fact manifest; 
the man was afraid! He was beginning to show weak- 


218 


ANNIHILATION 


ness, his armor was cracking, his nerve was giving way! 
The desperate chance he had taken of being discovered 
at his work, the very elaborateness of the scheme itself, 
told of the effort made in a frenzy of guilty apprehen¬ 
sion to wipe out one of those who represented the law. 

Yet the brain which had conceived and carried to a 
successful conclusion two such strange crimes as the 
murders, to say nothing of the making away with the 
child Horace, would be more than a match for the pres¬ 
ent situation. Having learned of his first failure he 
would be doubly on the alert and wary. McCarty had 
drawn his fire and in all probability there would be a 
cessation of crimes in the Mall while he gave his atten¬ 
tion to those who threatened to thwart his hideous 
activities. 

The storm raged even more fiercely, as the hour grew 
late, and for more reasons than one McCarty was re¬ 
luctant to venture forth for his forgotten dinner. He 
unearthed a battered percolator, tinned meat and crackers 
and made a light meal, retiring to bed at last with his 
revolver beneath the pillow. 

When he awakened a dark day had broken and he lay 
for a time listening to the wind roaring down the chim¬ 
ney and the rain driving in sheets against the windows 
while he formed an immediate plan. He must work 
alone, for Denny would be on duty again for twenty-four 
hours straight, and he welcomed the fact. If there were 
to be any further attempts made upon him, the faithful 
Denny must not share the danger; it would be just 
Denny’s luck to walk into a trap not meant for him! 

As for himself, McCarty meant to give his adversary 
every opportunity to try again. He shaved and dressed, 
and as he did so his blood raced as in the old days, with 


FOREWARNED 


219 


joy of the contest, yet now for the first time in his 
career he was hunted, not hunter; he had, in a twinkling, 
changed places with the arch-murderer and child-stealer 
and the thought gave added zest to the problem of the 
future. He was leaving for his accustomed restaurant 
when the telephone shrilled and he paused before taking 
down the receiver. 

His visitor of the night before could already have 
learned from the papers that his attempt had failed, but 
what if he were ringing up now to be sure that the event 
had not actually occurred and remained as yet undis¬ 
covered? Would he betray himself by surprise at the 
sound of his intended victim’s voice ? 

McCarty unhooked the receiver, waited a moment, and 
then called in a sudden, hearty tone: 

“Hello!” 

“Am I addressing ex-Roundsman McCarty?” The 
voice which came to him was elderly and formal, and, as 
McCarty replied in the affirmative, he was certain he had 
never heard it before. 

“Inspector Druet suggested that I telephone and ask 
you for an interview on a strictly private matter, Mr. 
McCarty. This is Benjamin Parsons speaking, of Num¬ 
ber Seven, New Queen’s Mall.” His tone betrayed not 
the slightest emotion. “Can you tell me when you will 
be at liberty to come to me ?” 

“In one hour, Mr. Parsons,” McCarty responded 
promptly. “ ’Tis about what happened night before 
last?” 

“Yes.” There was a note of finality in the quick, firm 
monosyllable. “In an hour, Mr. McCarty.” 

The click of a distant receiver came to his ears and 
McCarty went out with a puzzled frown. Had the in- 


220 


ANNIHILATION 


spector an inkling as to the identity of Parsons’ “burglar” 
and was he passing the buck? 

Thrust half under his door he found an envelope with 
a special delivery stamp; Jimmie Ballard had kept his 
word and returned the silver leaf. McCarty slipped it 
into his pocket and went out into the downpour, but his 
thoughts were almost immediately diverted from it by 
the Italian news-vendor on the corner, an acquaintance of 
many years’ standing. 

“You on da job again!” White teeth gleamed in the 
swarthy countenance. “Diss-a pape’ say you gonna fin’ da 
guy w’at murd’ da French-a girl!” 

It was the Bulletin and Jimmie Ballard’s idea of a 
joke was to announce the rumor that former Rounds¬ 
man Timothy McCarty, whose achievements in the de¬ 
partment had been unique and notable, had been reat¬ 
tached to the detective bureau for special investigation in 
connection with the crime wave in the New Queen’s Mall 
and important developments might be expected shortly. 

McCarty passed it by with a grunt. His eye was 
caught by a brief paragraph, lower on the page, and he 
stood still, unheeding the rain which streamed down his 
neck from his tilted umbrella. It was a bald statement 
that George Radley, the poisoner who escaped from Sing 
Sing a month before had been found wandering in a 
hopelessly demented condition on the upper East Side and 
would undoubtedly be committed to Matteawan. The 
clothing he wore was being traced, in an effort to locate 
the possible accomplices to his escape. 

With a nod to the news-vendor McCarty hurried on 
at last, and while he awaited his order at the little res¬ 
taurant he gave himself up to reflection. Was that why 
Parsons had sent for him? Had he learned that the 


FOREWARNED 


221 


escaped prisoner received aid from beneath his roof? 

He ate hastily and then made all speed to the New 
Queen’s Mall, where just within the gate he ran into 
Inspector Druet. 

"‘You’ve heard from Parsons?” the latter asked. 

McCarty nodded. 

“He said you told him to send for me. Whatever for, 
sir?” His tone was blandly innocent. “What can I 
tell the old gentleman about his lost papers?” 

“It’s what he’ll tell you, if you can get it out of him; 
I can’t,” confessed his superior. “He’s got something 
up his sleeve, all right, and if he weren’t such a well- 
known character I’d think he guessed more about that 
robbery than he was willing to say! The other one who 
was holding out on us came across last night but it isn’t 
going to help any except to remove one more possibility.” 

“Who was it?” demanded McCarty. 

“Eustace Goddard. The only thing that has kept him 
and his wife both going during these three days since 
the boy disappeared was their own private suspicion that 
he had been kidnapped for ransom and would be held 
safely until the exchange could be made, but now that 
hope has gone. The man they thought had taken Horace 
away was a former business associate of Goddard’s, down 
and out now. He applied to Goddard for financial help, 
it seems, at a time when it would have saved him, and 
when it was refused he threatened to make Goddard pay 
if he stripped him of the most precious thing he had. 
Goddard has been quietly looking for him since the trou¬ 
ble came and expecting him hourly to make a demand 
for a large sum; that was why he was willing to offer 
such a huge reward. Last evening, however, he ran him 
to earth and found out that the poor devil had been ill 


222 


ANNIHILATION 


in a sanitarium for months and didn’t know anything 
about Horace. Mrs. Goddard is almost insane—Allonby 
is attending her—and Goddard himself is nearly as bad 
but I can only put him off with the same old promises 
and bunk!—-Look over there now; that’s the boy’s police 
dog Max. He’s grieving himself to death, they tell me. 
Mac, if we don’t do something soon—!” 

“We’ll be sitting tight and let the other fellow show 
his hand, the guy that’s been pulling all these murders 
and such.” They had passed down the block together 
toward the Parsons house and as he spoke McCarty 
glanced across the street to the court beside the Goddards’. 
The slim, smooth-coated police dog was pacing rest¬ 
lessly up and down with the slinking, mechanical move¬ 
ment of a beast in captivity, his swaying head hung low 
and tail drooping. 

The inspector followed his companion’s gaze. 

“Trafford says he tried to coax Max to go for a walk 
but the dog won’t go further than that from the house; 
they’re one-man creatures anyway, that breed, and the 
boy was his god.—If you can get anything that looks like 
straight dope out of the old gentleman ’phone me at the 
medical examiner’s office.” 

He went on and McCarty ascended the steps of the 
Parsons residence and rang the bell. His summons was 
replied to after some little delay by a youth who carried 
himself smartly if awkwardly in his page’s uniform. The 
bright if somewhat weak face seemed abnormally pale, 
however, and his sharp eyes shifted in a scared fashion. 

“Name’s McCarty,” the newcomer announced briefly. 
“Mr. Parsons expects me.” 

“Yes, sir!” The youth’s tone was almost servile. 
“You can go right back to his study, sir. I’ll show you!” 


FOREWARNED 


223 


He led the way to the room which McCarty had al¬ 
ready visited surreptitiously two nights before, and 
knocked on the door. 

“Come in.” The same dignified, elderly voice which 
had sounded over the telephone answered the rapping and 
a man rose slowly from behind the desk as they entered. 
He was tall and powerfully built, with a keen, intellectual 
face softened by warm, gray eyes and a well-molded 
mouth, sensitive yet firm. His finely shaped head was 
covered with a shock of snow-white hair as long as a 
mane and his old-fashioned high stock and severely cut 
black coat made him resemble a figure from the past. 
He looked to McCarty’s eyes as though he might have 
stepped out of one of the frames in his own portrait 
gallery, but there was no suggestion of a pose about him. 
Without sound or gesture he appeared to dominate the 
room and his caller felt almost abashed in his presence. 

What would the old gentleman think if he knew the 
actual burglar stood before him? McCarty could feel 
his honest face grow hot, but he held his chin a trifle 
higher. After all, Parsons had known about flourine gas 
and powdered Calabar bean, he’d a bunch of crooks in 
his house and knew it, and when his notes had been 
taken he didn’t feel like coming clean about them! He 
might have a bit of explaining to do himself! 

“Lieutenant McCarty, sir.” The elevation in rank was 
patent flattery and McCarty’s eyes twinkled as Benjamin 
Parsons bowed. 

“That will do, Danny.—Mr. McCarty,” he added as 
the page boy withdrew, “I have asked you to come here 
because your inspector is occupied with matters of graver 
import to the little community in the Mall. From your 
question over the telephone this morning I gather you 


224 ANNIHILATION 

have been informed of the occurrence here on Wednesday 
night ?” 

“Yes, Mr. Parsons,” McCarty replied. “Your house 
was entered by way of the rear window, wasn’t it, and 
some papers taken? As I heard it, the wires were cut 
outside and a pane of glass knocked out.” 

“An interior alarm system of my own was also very 
cleverly disconnected so that it would not register in my 
bedroom.—But won’t you sit down?” A slender hand 
waved to a chair and McCarty obeyed. “All this is as 
unimportant as is the identity of the intruder, or as his 
identity would be if he had come merely for gain like 
the usual housebreaker; but this he was not. Articles of 
value were practically within reach of his hand—gold 
and silver plate, ivories and bronzes and ceramics which 
would have meant a fortune to the ordinary burglar, re¬ 
mained undisturbed, while the documents he searched for 
and found could be of no possible pecuniary benefit to 
him.” 

Mr. Parsons’ eyes were fastened on McCarty in an 
earnest, steady gaze which the latter found somehow dis¬ 
concerting. He cleared his throat nervously. 

“The inspector told me ’twas notes for a book that was 
missing, and some other papers that was personal,” he 
remarked. 

“Personal to others than myself, I regret to say,” Mr. 
Parsons shook his head. “That is why I did not go 
into particulars at first, but since I reported the matter 
to the authorities I have made another discovery which, 
taken in connection with the rest, leaves me no choice. 
The personal documents removed from this filing case 
over here related to the unfortunate past history of sev¬ 
eral people whom I count among my friends and it would 


FOREWARNED 


225 


be unjust to give publicity to them now, much less to 
permit these records to remain in unworthy hands. The 
manuscript of my book is perhaps small loss to the world, 
but it is the result of years of profound thought and re¬ 
search. I may add that it was intended as a message, 
an appeal for universal peace and I had dwelt in detail 
upon the horrors of the last war, describing in full the 
methods employed by man to destroy his fellows. I am 
stating this because one of the weapons so described was 
flourine gas, and the formula was given. Flourine gas 
has been mentioned in the papers in connection with the 
sad death of the young nurse across the street, but I did 
not even think of the coincidence until I made a further 
discovery last night.” 

“What was it?” McCarty felt that the question was 
expected of him although he well knew what was com¬ 
ing. Was the old gentleman the grand character he ap¬ 
peared or as shrewd as they make them and playing safe? 
He could have blushed for his own suspicious mind, but 
Parsons called the crooks his “friends” and was trying 
to protect them. What the devil did it all mean ? 

“When your inspector first called upon me to make 
certain inquiries last week, at the time a manservant 
from the same house as that in which the young girl 
passed away—also died, he told me of the poison be¬ 
lieved to have been used: physostigmine.” 

“Calabar bean,” McCarty nodded. 

“Quite so. I had never heard of it, as it happened, 
and I looked it up in some books of reference I have; 
books in common use in every home of intelligent inter¬ 
ests. I was called away before I had finished reading 
the article and marked the page. That page, Mr. Mc¬ 
Carty, has been torn from my encyclopaedia, and this 


226 


ANNIHILATION 


could only have been done on Wednesday evening.” 

The gentle yet dominating voice had continued in its 
level, perfectly controlled monotone and McCarty looked 
down at the floor but felt impelled to raise his eyes again. 
If only the old gentleman would look away for a minute! 

“It seems like a queer sort of burglar that would tear 
a page out of a book he could find anywhere, and the 
fact that it was an article about Calabar bean, and the 
notes on flourine gas gone too—!” The words stuck in 
McCarty's throat but he forced himself to go on : “Why 
should he have took them just from here, when the dam¬ 
age was done with the both of them, and how did he 
know where to get them, anyway?” 

“I have been asking myself those questions but I can¬ 
not answer them. However, I am convinced that those 
two coincidences are more than coincidences and it was 
my duty to report them.” 

“Yes, of course.” McCarty shuffled one foot. “Mr. 
Parsons, what’s become of your butler, Chris Porter?— 
Roberts, he called himself here.” 

He had launched the question with deliberate abrupt¬ 
ness but the gray eyes did not waver. 

“You knew of his identity? The record of his mis¬ 
fortune was one of those taken from my filing case.” 

“I recognized him and he made a certain confession 
to me the other day.” McCarty returned the gaze with 
interest now and he saw Mr. Parsons start slightly, a 
faint flush rising in the smooth pallor of his cheeks. 

“A confession? Christopher was a broken man, sub¬ 
jected to a persecution which would have been unfair 
even if he were guilty of the charge for which he had 
suffered imprisonment but I am convinced of his absolute 
innocence!” he asserted vigorously. “A grave miscar- 


FOREWARNED 


227 


riage of justice had been committed; I could not restore 
to him the years which our penal system had taken from 
him but I was endeavoring to help him get on his mental 
and moral feet again, to win back his self-respect! Mr. 
McCarty, if Christopher made any supposed confession it 
must have been wrung from him by coercion! Innocent 
or guilty he has paid the penalty the State demanded!” 

“Sure, for complicity in that poisoning case, if that’s 
what you mean, but ’twas not that he confessed. Mr. 
Parsons, I’d like to ask you something.” McCarty bent 
forward. “If a guy-—I mean a man—was sent up and 
escaped and you thought he was innocent, would you 
think it your duty to hide him or turn him over to the 
law again ?” 

“I should deliver him to the authorities,” The an¬ 
swer came without an instant’s hesitation. “A man’s 
personal opinion could not be allowed to weigh against 
the mandates of our laws or our whole social fabric 
would centuries ago have been undermined. The indi¬ 
vidual must be submerged in the collective body, if civili¬ 
zation is to endure!—But why do you ask?” 

“You knew that Radley, the fellow sentenced with 
Porter, escaped a month ago- and that he was caught last 
night?” 

“I knew that he had escaped but not that he was re¬ 
captured!” Mr. Parsons spoke in oddly shocked accents. 
“The newspapers doubtless have an account of it, but I 
was too disturbed in mind this morning to glance at 
them.—Where was the unfortunate man found?” 

“Not where he was last Sunday, Mr. Parsons!” Mc¬ 
Carty retorted significantly. “He’s supposed to be crazy 
now, so he’ll go to the asylum instead of back up the 
river, but he wasn’t crazy last Sunday, nor the week 


228 


ANNIHILATION 


and more before that, when he laid hid in the empty- 
house next door here, fed from your table and cared for 
by some one in your house! That was Porter’s confes¬ 
sion, and I’m asking you where is he ?” 

“He has gone!” Parsons rested his elbow on his desk 
and shielded his eyes with his hand. “I never suspected 
this! Christopher laid the table for breakfast as usual 
this morning and arranged the mail and the newspapers; 
it must have been then that he saw the account of Radley’s 
capture and ran away, panic-stricken for fear that he 
might fall into the hands of the law again! I have 
thought that he seemed more deeply troubled this week; 
if he had only come to me, and let me convince him of 
his higher duty! I have failed with him, failed!” 

Deep distress throbbed with a note of pain in his tone 
but McCarty persisted dryly: 

“That’s as may be, sir. He left about the time the 
papers came? That’ll be around eight o’clock? Was it 
before or after you ’phoned to me that you knew of it?” 

Mr. Parsons’ hand fell. 

“Just before. I knew no reason for his departure and 
he left no word, but the condition of his room showed 
hurried flight. It was then that I decided to place my¬ 
self unreservedly in your hands.” 

“Because of that missing dope about flourine gas and 
Calabar bean, and his own past history?” McCarty de¬ 
manded. “Because he’d already been convicted of 
poison—!” 

“Stop!” Mr. Parsons rose. “Christopher was inno* 
cent of that old charge and he was equally innocent of 
the crimes which have been committed this past week! 
He was mistaken in his sense of duty, but not a mur¬ 
derer !” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


checkmate! 

M cCARTY left the Parsons house a few minutes 
later, his mind a chaos of conflicting impressions. 
With the sonorous, dignified tones still ringing upon his 
ear and the deeply concerned gaze yet seemingly bent 
upon him Benjamin Parsons appeared the epitome of 
rectitude and righteousness, but had he been as certain 
of Porter’s innocence as he claimed, and was he as igno¬ 
rant of where he had gone? 

He crossed the street to Orbit’s house and glanced 
again into the court between that and Goddard’s. Max 
was still there, but he had lain down as though exhausted 
and his ribs, glistening with the rain, showed pitifully 
gaunt. Why didn’t they take the poor fellow in? Mc¬ 
Carty stopped and spoke coaxingly to him. The dog 
slowly rolled his lack-luster eyes upon him but made no 
other response. 

For a long minute McCarty stood thoughtfully re¬ 
garding the dog. When, at last, he continued on his 
way there was a curiously absent look upon his face. 

Ching Lee admitted* him and took him to the library 
where he had first been received. A small fire of some 
strange, peat-like fuel was burning on the hearth, send¬ 
ing out iridescent flames and a faint pervasive odor as 
of sandalwood, and before it Orbit was seated, with a 
stout, florid man in tweeds. 

229 


230 


ANNIHILATION 


“Good-morning, McCarty. I rather thought that you 
or the inspector would look in on me this morning.” 
Orbit turned to his guest. “Sir Philip, this is Deputy 
McCarty, the official who is working with Inspector 
Druet on the investigation, into this hideous mystery.” 

Sir Philip Devereux nodded to the ex-roundsman cor¬ 
dially. 

“Shocking affair, this! Shocking!” he commented. 
“Here for a little private chat with Mr. Orbit, what? 
I’ll leave you—” 

“No, don’t go, Sir Philip !” Orbit demurred smilingly. 
“You know all the circumstances and McCarty and I 
haven’t anything private to discuss. I hope he’s brought 
me some news!—You heard about what happened to me 
the other night?” 

“I did that,” McCarty nodded. “What do you think 
’twas done for, if nothing was taken?” 

“Haven’t the remotest idea.—Sit down here by the 
fire, man, you’re soaked through!” Orbit added hos¬ 
pitably. “I’ll have Ching Lee bring you a touch of 
something from my private stock—?” 

“No, thank you, Mr. Orbit; I’ve a twinge of the gout 
now and then, though you mightn’t think it,” McCarty 
explained speciously. “I just dropped by to see if you’d 
thought of anything to add to what you told the inspector 
about the chloroforming?” 

“Nothing. The whole thing happened so quickly and 
the impressions left on my mind were so vague, that I 
am afraid I can be of little use to you. One thing seems 
certain; the fellow didn’t intend me to die from the 
effect of it, since he stopped to open the windows and 
throw away the cloth he had used to anaesthetize me!” 
Orbit shrugged. “The incident is absolutely inexplicable 


CHECKMATE! 


231 


except on the supposition that his only intention was to 
terrorize me, and that is really too absurd to consider.” 

“It was an outrage!” declared Sir Philip suddenly. 
“Damme, it passes belief! The chap must be a fiend— 
or mad! What object could he have in doing Hughes 
in? I say, there was a valet for you!—Then the girl, 
too! That poison gas theory seems to be rot to me, too 
utterly impossible with you there in the room, but the 
girl is dead, isn’t she? There you are!” 

He leaned back in his chair and puffed thoughtfully 
at his cigar. His ho,st turned to McCarty with a faint 
hint of amusement in his eyes but it was quickly over¬ 
shadowed by sadness again. 

“The girl is dead, poor creature, and I cannot help 
feeling that the blame in some way rests at my door, 
for I invited her in. However her death was brought 
about the child escaped, though; we have that to be 
thankful for! We are none of us safe here on the Mall 
while the murderer is free to come and go in our houses 
at will, killing with impunity whenever the horrible im¬ 
pulse comes to him! I was reluctant to offer my hos¬ 
pitality to Sir Philip under these harrowing circumstances 
but he expressed himself as willing to abide by the con¬ 
sequences.” 

“Ripping experience!” the baronet nodded again. 
“Sorry I’m sailing to-morrow! Like nothing better than 
to stop and see it through!—Old chap over the way was 
robbed the same night, I hear; any clues left there, 
McCarty?” 

There was no hint of sarcasm in his tone but McCarty 
flushed darkly, then he darted a quick glance at the 
questioner and a slow smile dawned. The Britisher was 
trying to get his goat! 


232 


ANNIHILATION 


“Yes, sir, the same as here,” he replied. “Mr. Orbit, 
you’ve that chloroform bottle ? The inspector says ’twas 
found on a stand beside your bed.” 

“Ching Lee has it, I believe; would you like to see 
it?” He rang the bell without waiting for a reply. 
“The cloth used was a towel from my own bathroom; 
it’s evident that the fellow was familiar with the house 
and knew his way about; but how he got in that side 
door leading from the card-room-, if Ching Lee really 
bolted it as usual the night before—? Oh, Ching Lee?” 

The butler had appeared silently in the doorway and 
now Orbit addressed him in a rapid patter of Chinese. 
Ching Lee, as impassive and wooden of countenance 
now as before the tragedy, bowed and departed, and 
McCarty turned once more to Orbit. 

“What time was it, as near as you can figure, that 
you were doped?” 

“I should say, around two o’clock in the morning, 
perhaps a trifle before. Sir Philip and I sat up till after 
midnight playing chess, and when I retired I tried for 
more than an hour to sleep before I took a bromide. 
Things grew hazy after that and I don’t know how 
long I dozed before I was conscious of some one in 
the room.” 

“You got no whiff of anything else before the chloro¬ 
form hit you?” McCarty asked. “No smell of a pipe 
or cigar if the guy was a smoker, maybe?” 

“I smoke so constantly myself that I would scarcely 
have noticed it even if there had been time and I were 
fully awake.” Orbit raised his brows. “You smoke 
yourself, McCarty; could you have detected it?” 

“Sure,” McCarty stated the fact modestly. “I’ve not 
the nose Denny has, but ’tis easy to tell the smell of a 


CHECKMATE! 


233 


cigar from a pipe, even if it’s only hanging about the 
clothes of a person; a rich, full-flavored cigar with a 
body to it leaves a scent that a man will travel with, 
whether he gets it himself or not.” 

“ ‘Denny?’ ” Orbit repeated. “Oh, you mean your 
associate, Riordan? Yes, I remember he detected the 
odor of that small blaze here a week ago, when the 
monkey upset the cigar lighter in my room. Odd 
faculty, that, eh, Sir Philip?” 

“Jolly, I fancy. I only wish I had it!” Sir Philip 
chuckled. “My man makes away with my cigars at a 
shockin’ rate but I never can catch him at it. I say, 
no one’s disturbed our board, have they?” 

“Indeed, no,” Orbit replied. “I gave strict orders and 
we can finish the set to-night.—Sir Philip held the ama¬ 
teur chess championship for Great Britain for five 
years.” 

He added this to McCarty and then turned as Ching 
Lee appeared again and spoke to him once more in his 
native tongue. The butler advanced and placed in Mc¬ 
Carty’s hands the bottle he had seen in Orbit’s room 
two nights before. 

“Has it been uncorked, do you know, since ’twas 
found beside you?” McCarty regarded the contents crit¬ 
ically, removed the cork himself for a cautious whiff. 
Hurriedly replacing it, he handed the bottle back to 
Ching Lee and rose. 

“I don’t think so,” Orbit whipped out his handkerchief 
and pressed it to his nose. “I am susceptible to that 
odor, at any rate, since Wednesday night!—Sorry not 
to be of any greater -help to you. I shall depend on 
you and the inspector to keep me informed of any de¬ 
velopments that may arise.” 


234 


ANNIHILATION 


As McCarty trudged through the driving rain toward 
the east gate once more, he shook his head. Come night, 
it would be a week since Hughes had been done to 
death, and the end was not yet clear! 

He m'ade his way to the lunchroom on Third Avenue 
which he and Dennis had previously visited and in defer¬ 
ence to the day ordered fried oystefs. They were long 
in coming and he rested his elbows wearily on the table. 
Was he getting too old for the game, after all? In days 
gone by, when he was in harness, he’d have got to the 
truth long since. It had been a dog’s life in more ways 
than one, yet he regretted more than ever that he had 
left it and grown rusty. . . . 

All at once he straightened in his chair and sat star¬ 
ing at the cynical warning to “watch your hat and coat” 
on the wall before him as if the legend were wholly un¬ 
familiar to him. The belated appearance of the wait¬ 
ress with the oysters roused him from his stupor and he 
rose hurriedly. 

“Don’t want ’em!” he muttered thickly. “Gimme the 
check; I got to beat it!” 

Spilling a dime onto the table he took the slip of paste¬ 
board, paid for his untouched food at the cashier’s desk 
and went out as one in a dream. Once around the cor¬ 
ner he seemed galvanized into life and set off briskly 
enough for the subway. 

Twenty minutes later he presented himself at head¬ 
quarters and after being closeted with the chief of the 
detective bureau for some little time he departed, armed 
with certain credentials for the main office of the tele¬ 
phone company. 

There he spent a long and seemingly unproductive 
hour going over the calls from the Gotham exchange, 


CHECKMATE! 235 

which included the New Queen’s Mall, for the previous 
Tuesday. 

Over Goddard’s private wire had gone numerous mes¬ 
sages before Trafford had called Blaisdell’s studio; and 
in the late afternoon, when Horace’s continued absence 
had caused alarm, there were fully a score of numbers 
registered before Goddard himself had summoned 
McCarty. 

Orbit’s telephone, too, had been busy, with the caterer, 
decorator, florist and a musical agency, in connection 
with the function of the afternoon. Three messages to 
the coal dealer and innumerable others followed, pre¬ 
sumably sent by guests until the evening was far ad¬ 
vanced. 

Only four calls had been sent from the Bellamy house 
and they appeared to have been made by the lady her¬ 
self, for they were to modiste, hairdresser, perfumer 
and a prominent department store. 

Parsons’ telephone had been connected with a foreign 
consulate, several charitable societies and a banking 
house, while the Sloane household had communicated 
with Doctor Allonby, a drug store, an agency for male 
nurses, the office number of a noted financier, and sev¬ 
eral residence numbers of equally well-known persons. 

McCarty copied one or two numbers from each list 
and sallied forth to verify them, but, although the after¬ 
noon was long, twilight had not yet come when he re¬ 
turned to his rooms and entered cautiously. 

They had not been intruded upon on this occasion, but 
he remained only long enough to secure the page torn 
from the encyclopaedia and then slipped out again through 
the teeming rain to the fire house which domiciled engine 
company 023. 


230 


ANNIHILATION 


Dennis was matching nickels with Mike in the dormi¬ 
tory and reaping a rich harvest, but he hastily promised 
the loser his revenge later and slid down the pole to 
join McCarty. 

“I’ve looked for you all afternoon!” he declared re¬ 
proachfully, adding: “You’ve news! I can see it in 
the eye of you and I might have known something 
would start whilst I was out of it!” 

“There’s nothing new,” McCarty responded quietly. 
“I’ve a queer notion in my head, but it’s too sickening 
to spring even after all we know has happened, till I get 
hold of something to back it up. Parsons ’phoned for 
me this morning—the old gentleman himself—and told 
me the truth about what was missing since Wednesday 
night, which was no news. He said it was clever, the 
way you’d disconnected the inside alarm arrangement—” 

“Me!” Dennis’ leathery countenance blanched. “’Tis 
what I get for letting you lead me into breaking the law! 
Now I’ll get thrown out of the department and pinched, 
and Molly will change the baby’s name—!” 

“Oh, Parsons did not know ’twas you, Denny, he just 
said it had been cleverly done,” McCarty hastened to ex¬ 
plain. “I sprung it on him about Porter and Radley and 
asked him what would he do if a fellow escaped that he 
thought was innocent and came to him and he spoke up 
quick that he’d turn him over to the authorities anyway; 
’twould be his higher duty to our social fabric, what¬ 
ever that is.” 

“It would, would it!” Dennis ejaculated in fine scorn. 
“The social fabric could go to blazes for all of me, but 
I’d stick to a pal, innocent or no! Howsomever, I’ve 
not the grand, cold-blooded principles of him!—You 
know the poor devil’s been caught, crazier than a loon?” 


CHECKMATE! 


237 


McCarty nodded. 

“Porter knows it, too; he’s beaten it for fear he’ll be 
sent up for hiding him.” He finished his account of the 
morning’s interview and then drew the torn page from 
his pocket. “There’s more to this thing about the 
Calabar bean that I didn’t read you, Denny, so I brought 
it around and maybe ’twill give us an idea.—Listen: 
‘Calabar Bean. Ordeal Nut. The seed of Physostigma 
ven-en-osum, a twining, half shrubby plant, native of 
Africa.’ ” 

“What of it?” .Dennis was frankly bored. “How is 
that going to help?” 

“Wait a bit.—‘The kernel is hard and white, and yields 
its virtue to alcohol and less perfectly to water.—’ ” 

“I’ll bet it does, or they’d never have got it down 
Hughes, if what we’ve heard of his habits is straight!” 
interrupted Dennis, his interest once more aroused. 
“There you’ve got it, Mac! Find the last one he took a 
drink with and you’ll have the guy that croaked him!” 

“That’s not all,” McCarty began again. “ ‘The beans 
are reddish, gray, or’—um—‘Kidney-shaped, and about 
the size’—never mind that!—‘Care should be taken to 
avoid spontaneous—’ ” 

“Did you trail around here in all the rain to give me 
a botany lesson?” Dennis demanded indignantly. “ ’Tis 
not from any book you’ll be learning the truth! I was 
that upset last night, what with the revolver shot and 
all, that I never thought to ask you, but what did the 
old guy you know uptown say about that bu’sted blue 
balloon ? Could he make out from the way it was rotting 
before our eyes the kind of gas there was in it?” 

McCarty hesitated and then said slowly: 

“Denny, you’ll mind the other night after we had 


238 


ANNIHILATION 


examined it I put it in a cracker box while we went for 
a bite to eat and when we came home you saw me hunt¬ 
ing around for something ?” 

“You were trying to whistle, too!” Dennis nodded. 
“That always means you think you’re putting something 
over! What was it ?” 

“I was hunting for that cracker box. I knew the 
minute we came back into the room somebody’d been 
there, for there was the stale smell of a heavy cigar on 
the air, not as if he’d been smoking right then, but the 
scent of it was strong on him as he passed through the 
place; when I found the box missing I knew what he’d 
come for.” 

“Think of that now! Do you know what it means, 
Mac? The murderer knew you and not the medical 
examiner’s assistant had taken it from the conservatory! 
I wonder if he followed us from then on? The sight 
of us parading through the streets with all them balloons 
would have told him we were on, if he wasn’t blind!” 
Dennis grinned. “Leave the medical examiner find out 
what kind of gas was it; we know how ’twas give to her, 
though not what busted the balloon right in her face nor 
how the gas got in it! The notion come to me that 
’twas not meant to kill Lucette, anyway.” 

“Not kill her!” exclaimed McCarty. “The first whiff 
of it must have knocked her cold!” 

“But what if it was intended for the baby and not for 
her?” Dennis lowered his voice. “What if the murderer 
has a craze for killing children? I’ve heard tell of such 
things and so have you! Suppose Hughes was poisoned 
by mistake in the first place for Ching Lee, so that little 
Fu Moy wouldn’t be protected. Then Horace was taken 


CHECKMATE! 239 

away and maybe killed and the Bellamy baby was next on 
the list—!” 

“Denny, you’re running wild!” McCarty interrupted in 
his turn. “The murderer’s brain has got a twist to it, 
but he’s not as crazy as all that. Baby-killers are just 
stupid, low brutes without the shrewdness or knowledge 
to plan such crimes as we’re up against now. We’re 
fighting a mind, not a fist with a knife or a club in it!” 

“So you’ve been saying!” Dennis retorted disgustedly. 
“That comes of those books you’ve been reading! Whilst 
you’ve been figuring out his ancestors and the blood that’s 
in him to decide is he in the ‘Born’ or ‘Habit’ class, 
like that Diagnostic book of yours has it, he’s been hav¬ 
ing an Old Home Week in the Mall, kidnapping and kill¬ 
ing right and left! ’Twill be a week to-night—!” 

McCarty beat a hasty retreat and took his solitary way 
to the restaurant, where he ate a hearty dinner to make 
up for the deferred lunch. Then he returned to the 
Mall, to prowl about like an unquiet if somewhat too 
material ghost. The rain had stopped at last and al¬ 
though the sky was still partially overcast the glimmer 
of a few stars gave promise of a clear dawn. Lights 
were brilliant in the Sloane, Parsons and Orbit residences, 
but low in Goddard’s and Mrs. Bellamy’s, where the 
lady had been in a hysterical state since the murder of 
her baby’s nurse. 

Yost had been relieved from his post at the mortuary 
to take the place of the night watchman, and McCarty 
walked up and down with him for more than an hour, 
discussing the strange chain of tragedies. All at once, 
as they passed the court next to the Goddard house, he 
heard a low, coaxing masculine voice and came upon 


240 


ANNIHILATION 


Trafford bending over something which lay in the 
shadows. 

"Come on, old fellow!” the tutor was saying. "Come 
along in the house like a good boy! Horace isn’t here, 
Max, it’s no good waiting—!” 

" ’Tis a strange acting dog and no mistake, Trafford,” 
McCarty remarked. 

The tutor looked up. 

"He’s grieving himself to death,” he said. "He hasn’t’ 
touched a morsel of food since Tuesday, though we’ve 
tempted him with everything, and he is so weak he can 
scarcely stand, but he waits about out here all the time 
for Horace to come home. I’ve got to get him in now 
if I have to carry him!” 

At this juncture, however, Max rose languidly to his 
feet and began sniffing at McCarty’s boots, whining 
softly. 

" ’Tis like he was trying to talk!” the latter exclaimed. 

"I wish he could, if he knows anything!” Trafford re¬ 
plied sadly. "If Horace isn’t found soon his mother will 
lose her mind! McCarty, can’t you people do anything? 
Even to know the—the worst would be better than this 
horrible uncertainty and suspense!” 

"The lad’s disappearance is not the half of what we’re 
up against, Trafford,” McCarty reminded him. "We’re 
doing everything mortal to find him and soon, maybe 
to-morrow, we’re going to take a big chance.” 

He watched while the tutor led the dog into the house 
and then shaking his head he proceeded to Orbit’s and 
rang the bell. It was little Fu Moy, resplendent in his 
embroidered serving jacket, who opened the door and 
without announcing him, beckoned and preceded him to 
the library, where the last interview had taken place. 


CHECKMATE! 


241 


The room was in deep shadow save for the glow from 
the hearth and a single broad beam from a bridge lamp 
which played down upon a chess-board laid out on a 
small table. At opposite sides of it two silent, intent 
figures sat as immovably as graven images. If they were 
aware of McCarty’s appearance they made no sign. 

Were they hypnotized, or something? The two of 
them couldn’t be asleep, sitting bolt upright like that! 
McCarty waited a good five minutes and then advanced 
slowly into the room but still they appeared oblivious. 

Orbit was sitting forward, his eyes glued on the board, 
his hands clasped and elbows resting on the arms of the 
chair but the florid-faced Englishman appeared to be gaz¬ 
ing off into space with the intent yet absent look of one 
absorbed in profound concentration. 

Then slowly Orbit’s right hand disengaged itself 
from the other and he moved a figure upon the board, 
his hand almost mechanically seeking its former posi¬ 
tion. 

A little smile twitched at the comers of Sir Philip’s 
mouth and with a swift intake of his breath he moved, 
sweeping from the board the figure of shining white with 
which Orbit had just played. The latter instantly lifted 
his head and raised his eyes to the high, beamed ceiling. 
With the slight gesture the first sound broke the stillness, 
as a muffled, barely audible exclamation came from Sir 
Philip’s throat. 

Orbit made one more move and then glanced in amused 
commiseration at his friend. 

“Checkmate, Sir Philip ! I shall give you your revenge 
in London next season!” 

“I say! That was damned clever! Led me right into 
ambush, what? I wish some of the masters could have 


242 


ANNIHILATION 


seen it!—Oh, there you are, McCarty! Are you a chess 
player, by any chance?” 

“No, sir.” McCarty advanced a step farther. “Mr. 
Orbit, Fu Moy showed me straight in and I waited so as 
not to disturb you.” 

“That’s all right!” Orbit nodded pleasantly, “Our 
game is over.—You have news for me?” 

“Of a sort. You recall saying on Wednesday that 
you thanked heaven the Bellamy baby was old enough to 
talk?” 

“Yes!” Orbit responded eagerly. “I have tried several 
times to see Mrs. Bellamy and little Maude, but the 
mother is still almost overcome by the narrow escape of 
her child and will not permit her out of her sight for a 
moment, while she herself is too prostrated to see any 
one.” 

“The little one talked to me the other day,” McCarty 
vouchsafed. 

“She did? Why didn’t you tell me?” Orbit pushed 
back his chair and rose. “Did she see any one, hear any¬ 
thing? Tell me, for God’s sake! This may be most im¬ 
portant !” 

His fine eyes had lighted and the latent excitement 
seemed to have communicated itself to his guest for Sir 
Philip also rose. 

“No, sir. She knew no more than you or I, but 
she kept asking for her balloon. It seems Lucette had 
bought it for her off a wop by the gate just before you 
invited them in; ’twas a blue one, the baby said, and she 
was persistent about it, but I recall seeing no toy balloon 
in that conservatory.—Did you?” 

“No.” Orbit shook his head. “I really don’t know, 
though; I didn’t notice particularly. Surely it couldn’t 


CHECKMATE! 243 

have had anything to do with the case, though!—What is 
it, Fu Moy?” 

The little coffee boy spoke rapidly in Chinese and after 
a moment Orbit turned with a gesture which included 
Sir Philip and McCarty. 

“I am wanted on the telephone. You will excuse me?” 

When he had left the room the Englishman glanced 
again at the chessboard with the self-centered absorp¬ 
tion of the enthusiast. 

“Too bad you didn’t understand that play! Dash it 
all! Very clever! On the twenty-first move, his Knight 
captured my pawn. Check. I moved the King to the 
Queen’s square. By Jove, he moved the Queen to Bishop’s 
sixth. Check. I captured his Queen with my Knight 
and then Orbit moved his Bishop to King’s seventh. 
Checkmate! Devilish trick, I should say. Really, Mc¬ 
Carty, he had served me with what is known in chess 
parlance as 'The Immortal Partie !* ” 

“ 'Checkmate/ ” repeated McCarty slowly. “That 
means calling the turn, then, blocking every play; not 
winning anything yourself but keeping the other fellow 
from moving! ’Tis a poor sort of victory, to my mind, 
but better than getting wiped off the board, and the secret 
of it is—looking ahead!” 


CHAPTER XIX 


DENNIS SUPPLIES A SIMILE 


N Saturday morning, as McCarty opened his door 



to proceed to breakfast he caromed violently with 
Dennis at the head of the stairs. 

“It’s a wonder you wouldn’t look where you’re go¬ 
ing!” the latter observed. “I’ve come straight off duty 
without a bite or a shave to find out what’s new, but not 
to be thrown downstairs!” 

“Come on, let’s eat, then,” invited McCarty. “You can 
get a shave after and join me back here, for I’ve had a 
’phone from the inspector and he’ll be around soon; he’s 
got something to tell us.” 

Their meal concluded, Dennis betook himself to his 
favorite barber and McCarty returned to his rooms with 
the usual collection of newspapers under his arm. Be¬ 
fore the half-open door of the antique shop he paused. 
From an inner room at the rear came the deep strains 
of a ’cello in a simple, oddly insistent little tune, unsuited 
to the strains of a stringed instrument, until they swelled 
into a sweeping arpeggio accompaniment. Girard must 
have finished setting his stock in order, to be idling away 
the early morning hour with his everlasting fiddle! 

Nevertheless McCarty listened for a moment longer 
and then, pushing open the door, he went in. The ’cello 
was silenced and the little old Frenchman’s withered face 
peered out inquiringly from between the curtains. 


244 


DENNIS SUPPLIES A SIMILE 245 


“Ah, it is you, my friend!” He came forward in wel¬ 
come. “You have heard the ’cello? She is in a bad hu¬ 
mor because I play upon her German music once more, but 
it is of a quaintness and charm, that witch’s song from 
"Hansel und Gretel’; I go every year to hear it.” 

""Is that what you were playing?” McCarty asked po¬ 
litely. ""Would it be opera, now? I’m not up in them, at 
all.” 

"‘It is from a fairy story for the children,” Monsieur 
Girard explained. “The witch builds a castle of ginger¬ 
bread in the woods to attract the little ones and when 
they touch it they are destroyed.—But tell me! You are 
again of the police, is it not so? You have found the 
murderer of my countrywoman?” 

“Not yet, Girard. I just stopped by to pass the time of 
day, and ask you if you should see that red-headed limb 
of Satan, Jimmie Ballard, hanging around, tell him I’ve 
left town; he’s too free with his pen entirely!” McCarty 
returned with some heat. Then his manner changed. 
“You didn’t happen to notice a man who came to see me 
night before last, just around dark? I missed him by 
only a few minutes.” 

“But no, my friend.” Girard shook his head. “It rains 
with such fury that one cannot see before the door and I 
close the shop while yet it is light.—You do not come in 
a long time to spend an evening with the old man!” 

His tone was wistful and McCarty responded heartily: 

“Sure I’ll come, just as soon as this case is over! Don’t 
forget about Jimmie!” 

Leaving the shop he mounted the stairs to his apart¬ 
ment above, and settled himself to read the papers; but 
they held little of interest, and, as the inspector still de¬ 
layed in coming, he got out his books once more and was 


246 


ANNIHILATION 


deeply engrossed when Dennis reappeared, freshly shaven 
and well-brushed, with a new collar an inch too small 
embracing his gaunt neck. 

“What are you dolled up for?” his host demanded. 
“That collar’s so> tight the eyes are bulging out of your 
head!” 

“Leave be!” retorted Dennis with dignity. “A man 
has a right to spruce up of a Saturday! So you’re at 
them books again! Where’s the inspector?” 

“That’s his ring now.” McCarty rose. “Denny, mind 
you listen to what I tell him about Parsons, but don’t add 
anything to it. What he don’t know will save a waste 
of time.” 

“What are you—?” Dennis began, but there was no op¬ 
portunity for him to finish his query; the inspector had 
taken the stairs two steps at a time and entered without 
ceremony. 

“Sorry I’m late, Mac.—Hello, Riordan, on the job with 
us again? The medical examiner has had news from 
Washington.” 

“Washington ?—Sit down, sir!—About that poison gas, 
you mean?” McCarty pushed forward the big armchair. 
“Did they find out what it’s made of?” 

“As much as will ever be known.” The inspector’s face 
was very grave. “I don’t know whether you recall read¬ 
ing about it or not after all this time, but during the last 
months of the war a report went out from the Capital that 
a new poison gas had been invented, deadlier than any¬ 
thing yet tried. The formula was a secret one, the prop¬ 
erty of the government. The papers were full of it and 
preparations were being made to supply our troops with 
it when the armistice came. Nobody except the officials 
in charge of that department have thought much about 


DENNIS SUPPLIES A SIMILE 247 

it since until our inquiries of the last day or two. Last 
night Hinton Sherard, the man responsible for the safety 
of that folio of secret documents, blew his brains out; 
the formula for the poison gas had disappeared.” 

“And 'tis that the murderer used?” Dennis stared. 
“Did he steal it from the department?” 

“Theft would have been impossible, except for some 
one on the inside but the despatches in code from Wash¬ 
ington indicate that Sherard has been deeply involved in 
some foreign financial scandal. He managed to extricate 
himself about two months ago by the payment of a large 
sum; the affair only reached the ears of the departmental 
heads when he killed himself publicly in the main dining¬ 
room of the Weyland Hotel and as he never had as much 
money as he is reputed to have paid out there's only one 
construction to be put on it. He must have sold the 
formula for that gas.” 

“It must have taken a mint of money to buy it,” Mc¬ 
Carty observed thoughtfully. “Any of them that live on 
the Mall could have afforded it, I suppose, providing they 
wanted it bad enough but—two months ago! The mur¬ 
derer sure planned a good ways ahead! Are you certain 
there's no mistake about it? If nobody knows the 
formula—?” 

“The chemist who invented it is still living and three 
other men in official Washington are familiar with its 
component parts. They all agree that the effect of the gas 
inhaled by Lucette, as shown by the autopsy, was identical 
with what would have been produced by the action of this 
unnamed gas, and nothing else known to chemistry would 
have had just that result.—Try one of these instead, Mac; 
old Mr. Parsons gave them to me and though he doesn't 
smoke himself they ought to be good.” He had drawn 


248 


ANNIHILATION 


a handful of fragrant cigars from his pocket as McCarty 
proffered the box from the mantel. “The important thing 
to us about this affair is that Washington is all excited and 
determined to get our man and the formula before it 
passes out of his hands, perhaps into those of some for¬ 
eign power, do you see?” 

“In case there’s another war?” 

“Exactly. They’re sending on some picked men from 
the Secret Service to investigate and you know what that 
will mean; the case will be practically taken out of our 
hands.” 

“To the everlasting shame of the Force, and through 
us!” McCarty sprang to his feet and paced rapidly back 
and forth. “It’s hell, ain’t it, inspector? We’ve done all 
that mortal could and been blocked at every turn, like Sir 
Philip in the chess game with Orbit last night; ’twould be 
the devil and all if we fall down on it now!” 

“You’ll not!” Dennis sat up suddenly, the ashes from 
his pipe falling upon the book laid open across his knee. 
“Don’t mind him, sir! He’s got something up his sleeve, 
he as good as told me so yesterday afternoon!” 

“Denny!” McCarty paused, grimacing horribly at the 
base informer. “Don’t you listen to him, inspector! I 
had just a notion with nothing to back it up, and if I 
sprung it now and it turned out to be wide of the mark 
there’s no corner of this earth could hide us from what 
would come!” 

“What is it?” the inspector demanded. “For God’s 
sake, Mac, don’t hold out anything now! It’s more than 
your record or my career that is at stake; the pride of the 
whole department is in our hands! What is this notion, 
as you call it ?” 

McCarty shook his head. 


DENNIS SUPPLIES A SIMILE 249 


“It’s no use, sir! If I had one hint of even circumstan¬ 
tial evidence to support it, I wouldn’t be loafing here this 
minute, but I’ll tell you what I will do. Come noon, I’m 
thinking I’ll know whether there’s anything in it or no and 
if there is I’ll be 'phoning to headquarters, with a request 
that’ll maybe surprise you. Whatever it is you’ll let me 
have it, for well you know I’d make no move unless I 
was sure.” 

There was an unmistakable note of finality in his tone 
and Inspector Druet acknowledged it with a shrug. In his 
troubled eyes a renewed glow of hope had some. 

“By noon?” he repeated. “I’ll be there waiting for 
your message, Mac.” 

“Meanwhile,” McCarty carefully avoided Dennis' 
gaze, “I’ve a bit of news for you, sir. Denny and 
me have managed to lay our hands on the papers that 
have been missing from Parsons’ house.” 

“I thought you would!” The shadow of a smile 
passed across the inspector’s face. “The department 
doesn’t countenance burglary, of course, but when two 
such deputies as you take matters into your own hands I 
wash mine of the responsibility. What did you find 
out?” 

Dennis was endeavoring to hide behind his book but 
his agonized contortions bore mute testimony to his guilt. 
McCarty gazed at his old superior with a world of re¬ 
proach. 

“ ’Tis not what I expected from you, sir, after all these 
years, but we’ll try to bear up under the injustice of it l 
The papers came to us in a confidential way and since 
all Parsons wants is to get them back again there’s no 
harm done.” 

“Look here!” The amusement had faded from the 


250 


ANNIHILATION 


inspector’s countenance. “Orbit’s house was broken into 
that same night and he was chloroformed—!” 

“May my right arm drop off this minute if we had 
anything to do with that!” McCarty’s solemn tones held 
the ring of truth. “I won’t say that I’ve not my own 
suspicions about it, but they come to me since and they’re 
all part and parcel of that notion I’ve got concerning the 
whole case. However, getting back to Parsons, maybe 
you’d like to look over what was stolen from his filing 
case in that outrageous robbery. You’ll know then why 
the housemaid and the page boy looked familiar to you.” 

He handed the records of Parsons’ domestic staff 
to the inspector and watched with a twinkle as the other 
ran quickly through them. When* his astonished com¬ 
ments had ceased, he produced the manuscript notes but 
drew no attention to the reference to flourine gas, nor 
did he mention the leaf he had torn from the encyclopaedia 
as he briefly recounted the interview with the eccentric 
philanthropist on the previous day. 

“I left asking myself was he a crook or a crank or a 
saint on earth?” he concluded. “What’s your opinion 
of him?” 

“He may be a dreamer, with a lot of ideas for bettering 
the world, that will never work out while we’re full of 
original sin, but I think he’s a wonderful old character and 
worthy of his family,” the inspector replied reflectively. 
“I was talking to one of these psycho-analysts who is 
going to lecture to us in the commissioner’s new school 
the other day and he knew all about them; it seems they’re 
celebrated among students of heredity as a shining ex¬ 
ample of what good blood means. There are thousands 
of ‘Parsons,’ I suppose, but I’m talking about the de- 


DENNIS SUPPLIES A SIMILE 251 


scendants of the first David Parsons and the old gentle¬ 
man we know is the last in the direct male line.” 

“I know,” McCarty remarked. “Five governors 
they’ve given to the New England states, eight clergymen 
in America, fourteen foreign missionaries, eleven college 
professors and two of them became college presidents, 
and I can’t recall how many army and navy officers and 
other big men. I’ve been looking them up a little, my¬ 
self.” 

“The devil you have!” The inspector stared. “Keeping 
up with the commissioner’s latest innovations, eh? Did 
you know that the Parsons have been contrasted by these 
same students of heredity with another family that’s sup¬ 
posed to be the worst on record ?” 

“I’ve no way of getting at things like those psycho¬ 
analysts,” McCarty responded apologetically. “What 
about this other family?” 

“I’ve forgotten the name but they died out long ago, the 
male members, anyway. Every kind of crime and general 
crookedness was represented among them.—But we’re 
wasting time. I suppose you want me to return these 
papers to Parsons with the best excuse I can think of?” 

“No. We’ve an hour to spare before we can do any¬ 
thing, and Denny and me thought we’d take them to him 
ourselves.” McCarty gazed ceilingward through the 
wreaths of smoke. “Denny wants a little talk with him.” 

“Every day,” Dennis laid down his book at last. 
“Every day, in every way, my friend Timothy McCarty is 
getting to be a better and better liar—” 

“Denny, what have you got hold of now!” McCarty 
flushed hotly. 

“One of your new lesson books,” the other replied with 


252 


ANNIHILATION 


immense satisfaction. “ Tis by a foreign gentleman with 
a name like an Australian bushranger’s call—” 

“I bought it by mistake, thinking it was about this 
psycho-stuff too, because I couldn’t understand it!” Mc¬ 
Carty slammed the desk drawer upon the embarrassing 
volume and turned to the inspector, who had risen. 
“You’re going, sir? It may be a little past noon when 
I call you up, but you’ll hear from me one way or the 
other.” 

Mutual recriminations of a more or less acrimonious 
nature took place after the inspector’s departure but 
they merely cleared the air. Finally McCarty remarked: 

“I gave myself away as well as. you about breaking 
into the Parsons house, but that was only after you’d 
told the inspector I was holding out on him, which I 
wasn’t, having nothing to hold. As to getting at crimi¬ 
nals by way of science I’m not laughing at it, Denny, just 
because I’m not on to it yet.” 

“Nor me!” Dennis agreed. “Only to my mind, science 
is a lot like spontaneous combustion; if you don’t handle 
it careful it’ll work up its own heat and break out in a 
blaze.” 

“Like what ?” McCarty paused with his hat half-way 
to his head. 

“Spontaneous combustion.” Dennis repeated. “When 
anything that generates its own heat, like hay in a stable, 
is shut up too long without air getting to it, it’s liable to 
take fire by itself. That s one of the first things ever 
I learned when I joined the department.” 

McCarty chuckled. 

“And that’s your idea of science, is it? Maybe ’tis 
as good as any other!—Now let’s go and ease the old 
gentleman’s mind about his stolen property.” 


DENNIS SUPPLIES A SIMILE 253 


But they were destined to meet with still another de¬ 
lay, for on entering the west gate of the Mall they en¬ 
countered Mr. Gardner Sloane. The supercilious manner 
had fallen from him and he greeted them with marked 
cordiality. 

“Horrible week we’ve been through, gentlemen!” he 
declaimed. “Leaving the death of Orbit’s valet out of 
it, a murder, a kidnapping and two robberies make a 
frightful record to contemplate. I trust you are taking 
every measure to protect us here? By gad, there’s no 
telling where this thing will strike next!” 

“Did you ever find your key to the gates?” McCarty 
asked suddenly. 

“Confound it, no; had to have another one made!” 
Sloane fumed. “Let me see, it was a week ago that I 
missed it. I’d used it Saturday morning to enter the 
east gate, I remember it distinctly, and I must have 
dropped it near the Parsons house.—But I hope you’ll 
tell your inspector that I depend on him to have a special 
watch kept over our home; my father had a very bad 
turn on Tuesday and if any excitement like a burglary 
were to take place it might prove fatal.” 

“Did you get a good nurse for him?” McCarty asked 
solicitously. “The last one you had beat it, didn’t he?” 

“Otto? Oh, he’s back; came Tuesday afternoon, for¬ 
tunately. Stupid ass but a splendid attendant and my 
father’s used to him.—You won’t forget to have us prop¬ 
erly guarded?” 

McCarty reassured him heartily and as they watched 
him swing off toward the Avenue with a jaunty air Den¬ 
nis remarked: 

“So Lindholm showed up again, and we never even 
thought of it! On Tuesday, too! Do you suppose—?” 


254 


ANNIHILATION 


“I’m through supposing!” McCarty interrupted. 
“We’ll stop by and find out!” 

The Sloane house, in spite of its almost oppressive 
luxury, unmistakably betrayed the fact that a feminine 
hand had been for long absent from its care and ar¬ 
rangement. There was a cold, detached air about as 
though those beneath its roof were transients with no 
foothold and little interest of a personal nature. Dennis 
voiced his impression when the ancient butler had hob¬ 
bled away to summon the nurse. 

“ ’Tis like a hotel!” he whispered. “Grander than 
most, but public like. If ’twas the old days I’d have been 
minded to ask the old guy where the cafe was!” 

“You’re not used to the high society we’ve been moving 
in lately, Denny,” McCarty replied, adding, as soft but 
heavy feet padded down the wide center staircase of the 
reception hall: “Wisht! Here comes the squarehead!” 

The man who entered almost before the words had 
left his lips was a blond, massively built giant with an 
up-standing brush of hair so light as to be almost color¬ 
less, and sleepy blue eyes in a round face ruddy with 
health. 

“Ay Otto Lindholm.” He bent a mildly inquir¬ 
ing gaze upon them. “You bane same mans dat go to 
my missus?” 

“Sure we are!” McCarty beamed in a friendly fashion. 
“What the devil did you run away for? You’d nothing 
to fear because of a row with Hughes!” 

“My woman!” Otto shrugged as if that settled the 
matter. “Ay tal her we better stay but she has a scare 
on. You bane married, you know.” 

“Neither of us, thank God!” McCarty replied de- 


DENNIS SUPPLIES A SIMILE 255 


voutly. “You quarreled with Hughes on Thursday night 
a week ago, didn’t you?” 

“Ay tal him he keep ’way from my woman or Ay 
bane goin’ to fix him.” He spoke with stolid satisfaction. 
“Next time he write latter to' her Ay bane kick him 
’roun’ de street like yaller dog. Dat’s all.” 

His clear, placid eyes regarded them still in good- 
humored inquiry and McCarty asked: 

“When did you see him again?” 

“De next night. Friday.” 

“What-t!” The quiet answer had been all but over¬ 
whelming, but Otto seemed unconscious of its portent. 

“De next night,” he repeated patiently. “It bane yust 
start to rain an’ he var sitting on stoop of house t’ree 
street down, holting on wit’ bote han’s to stomach. He 
var ver’ sick mans. Ay tal him Ay take him home but 
he tal me go to hell. He look w’ite lak sheet, Ay t’ank 
he bane soffer mooch but he say he bane goin’ walk it 
off. Dat’s last Ay see of him.” 

“You went on and left him sitting there? That would 
be about eight o’clock?” 

“Yes, ’bout eight. Ay stay to see can Ay halp him 
but he get oop an’ walk ’way. Ay t’ank to mysalf den he 
look lak deat’ but Ay did not guess it var poison. He 
tal me he bane get sick at dinner an’ Ay t’ank he yust 
eat too mooch.” Otto shook his head. “Hughes var 
bad mans but murder is not so good! Dat Calabar bean 
he bane get here in de Mall, sure!” 


CHAPTER XX 


MAX 

66TS that the poor beast you told me about?” It was an 
hour later, and McCarty and Dennis were coming 
down the steps of the Parsons residence. The latter 
pointed across the street to where Max was prowling up 
and down the court. 

“Yes. He’ll go on like that till he drops in his tracks.” 
A certain note of grimness had crept into McCarty’s tone. 

I wonder if Orbit went down to the boat to see his 
friend off? I’d like a word with him if Sir Philip has 
gone.” 

“We’ve had words, in a manner of speaking, with more 
than one this morning!” Dennis remarked. “We know 
as much now as we did before but we’ve not gone a 
step forward and ’tis near noon . . . Look at Little 
Fu Moy!” 

The Chinese boy, looking, in his drab, everyday attire, 
like some dun-colored moth, had emerged from the side 
door of the house where he was employed and approached 
the dog, holding a bit of cake out in one brown little 
hand, but Max’s somber eyes showed no glint of recogni¬ 
tion and he swung out of the child’s way, staggering in 
sheer weakness until he regained his poise. 

Fu Moy stood still, his hand dropped to his side, and 
the piece of cake falling to the pavement of the court. 

“You go ring the bell, Denny, and ask for Mr. Orbit,” 
256 


MAX 


257 


McCarty directed. ‘Til be with you in a minute. If 
Ching Lee takes you to him say you’ll wait for me, that 
I’ve something more to ask him.” 

Dennis obeyed but when Ching Lee appeared and he 
voiced his query the Oriental shook his head. 

“Mr. Orbit is not at home. He has gone down to 
the wharf with Sir Philip, whose ship sails at noon.” 

“Then I’ll wait for him.” Dennis announced firmly. 
“My friend McCarty will be along in a little while. 
When Mr. Orbit gets back, tell him the two of us are 
here.” 

Ching Lee showed him to the library and with a bow 
left him, and Dennis seated himself, feeling regretfully 
of the pipe in his pocket. What McCarty had in mind he 
could not conjecture and there was no telling when Orbit 
might return to find him, waiting there without an idea 
in his head and afraid to open his mouth for fear of 
balling up the game. 

Had Mac just been kidding when he told the inspector 
he’d know by noon whether his notion was fact or not? 
He’d learned nothing since but a lot of corroborative 
detail about things that didn’t matter, anyway. Why on 
earth was he hanging around outside, fooling with the 
dog? 

Time crawled. Twenty minutes had passed by the 
great old grandfather’s clock in the corner and still 
McCarty did not put in an appearance. Dennis rose 
at last and tip-toed out across the hall and down to the 
cardroom, where he cautiously opened the side door lead¬ 
ing to the court. There stood McCarty, chinning and 
laughing with the little Chink as if he’d not a care in 
the world! 

Dennis took a tentative step forward, but at that mo- 


258 


ANNIHILATION 


ment McCarty turned with a pat on the shoulder to 
Fu Moy and started for the rear of the house. Dennis 
was forced to beat a hasty retreat lest the boy find 
him spying. 

What could Mac have found to talk about to the lad? 
Dennis knew him too well to be taken in by that idly 
jocular air, and he’d not be wasting a minute at this stage 
of the game. Could it be from somebody in Orbit’s 
household, after all, that Hughes had got his death- 
dose and poor Lucette that puff of poisoned air? Could 
the boy Horace be even now hidden in some secret corner 
of Chinatown or the French quarter? 

He had little opportunity to speculate further, for the 
front door opened and after a moment Orbit’s tones came 
to him raised in singsong Chinese. Little Fu Moy re¬ 
plied and then the master of the house entered. 

“Good morning, Riordan. Where is McCarty? Fu 
Moy says you both wished to see me. What can I do 
for you ?” 

For a horrible moment Dennis’ tongue clove to the 
roof of his mouth and then an inspiration came. 

“Mac has something to ask you, Mr. Orbit, but he 
was stopped outside. He’ll be in right away. ’Twas 
about that chloroforming the other night that I wanted 
to see you. You woke up sick and found nothing had 
been touched, but there was the bottle and the towel, and 
the side door open downstairs. Did you happen to 
notice anything else?” 

“Only proof that there were two of them,” Orbit 
responded thoughtfully. “I forgot to mention that to the 
inspector. One had big hands, fat, and a trifle soft, but 
the other’s were thin and strong with a wiry grip and 
a broken finger on the left one.” 


MAX 


259 


“You don’t tell me!” Dennis ejaculated and his own 
left hand promptly fumbled with his coat pocket as 
though seeking cover there. Then in confusion it dropped 
to his side again. “And how might you be knowing that? 
Sure, the inspector said you’d no time to move, before the 
towel was clapped down over your face!” 

“They had left their marks behind them.” Orbit 
laughed. “Fat Hands had raised my windows higher 
and he must have been the one who actually drugged 
me, for Broken Finger was nervous and during that oper¬ 
ation he gripped the post at the foot of my bed so tightly 
that the impression was plainly left in the satiny finish 
of the wood. The prints could have been made by none 
of the household when they came in response to my 
ring, for Ching Lee’s hands are very long and slender, 
Jean’s as thin as claws and Andre’s fat but small. Fu 
Moy did not wake up and I would not permit Sir Philip 
or his man to be disturbed.” 

“Maybe there was more than two of them,” Dennis 
suggested hopefully. “Was there nothing else but just 
them finger marks? The bureau don’t take so much 
stock in that kind of evidence any more, what with 
the new science and such.” 

“New science?” Orbit raised his brows. “Do you 
mean the crime-detecting machines imported from some 
of the European capitals? But that was some years 
ago.” 

“No, sir.” Dennis’ thoughts went swiftly back to 
more than one experience he had had with automatic in¬ 
formers in company with McCarty during earlier days. 
“This is no test of your breathing, nor pulse, nor sweat- 
glands, nor yet how quick you can think when a lie 
comes in handy. ’Tis the crime itself that tells nowa- 


260 


ANNIHILATION 


days what manner of man committed it and what kind 
of people he sprung from; I've no doubt but that soon 
they'll have it down so pat they can tell a guy's color and 
religion and politics by the turn of a knife or the course 
of a bullet! It’s a wonder anybody got hung at all 
in the old days!” 

“Mr. Orbit?” McCarty unannounced appeared at last 
in the doorway. “Sorry if I’ve kept you waiting. Has 
Sir Philip Devereux gone?” 

“He sailed less than an hour ago.” Orbit eyed him 
inquiringly. “Your associate tells me you have some¬ 
thing to ask me.” 

“About Hughes, it was. He'd not been looking so well 
lately. Do you know had he been taking any medicine ?” 

“Really, I couldn't say.” He shrugged. “It didn't 
occur to me to ask him!” 

“That’s that, then!” McCarty seemed lost in thought 
for a minute. “Who is it drinks milk in the house¬ 
hold?” 

“Milk?” Orbit smiled. “Fu Moy, perhaps, but you 
will have to ask him. The only one I know to be fond 
of it is Vite, the monkey; it is one of his main articles 
of diet.” 

As though the mention of his name had summoned 
him, a little brownish-gray shape sidled in over the door- 
sill, paused for a moment and then sprang through the 
air to land lightly on Orbit's shoulder and sit chattering 
impertinently at the intruders. 

“Silence, Vite! Where are your manners?” His 
owner stroked him gently. “Why do you ask about the 
milk, McCarty?” 

“It isn't of any matter, sir. The medical examiner 


MAX 


261 


was saying that twas only in medicine or milk the 
Calabar bean powder could be dissolved.” 

Orbit moved with a slight trace of impatience. 

Surely such minor details are unimportant just at this 
time, anxious as I am to have the mystery concerning 
Hughes’ death cleared up! Nothing can restore him 
or that poor girl who died so strangely in my house, 
but there is Horace Goddard! This is the fourth day 
since his inexplicable disappearance and his father tells 
me that no effort has been made to approach him for 
ransom. If the boy has not been killed in some accident 
he may be in horrible danger! He is delicate, he could 
not long endure hardships, privation.” Orbit hesitated 
and then went on: “I don’t know whether the suggestion 
may be worth anything or not, but has his own home 
been searched thoroughly? It is an enormous, rambling 
old house with innumerable store-rooms and closets up¬ 
stairs—I have remembered them since I was a mere lad. 
Horace is a solitary, meditative little chap, fond of getting 
away by himself. Isn’t it possible that he may have gone 
up to some portion of the attic and either fastened him¬ 
self in or been locked away there by some one who didn’t 
know he was around ? Finding he couldn’t get out he may 
have been frightened, fainted,—the possibilities are too 
awful to be imagined!” 

“No, there’s no chance of that, for every inch of the 
house has been gone over a dozen times, but it may be, 
of course, that he met with an accident somewhere and 
the body hasn’t come to light yet; the inspector was say¬ 
ing something like that awhile ago. The lad could have 
been dead even before he was missed by Trafford; you 
recall the tutor coming here to ask for him that day 


262 


ANNIHILATION 


whilst we were talking to you ? The coal men had been 
after getting in your supply—?” 

“Yes, yes!” Orbit nodded quickly, impatience at Mc¬ 
Carty’s garrulity evident in his voice now. “Most incon¬ 
venient time, too, just before the arrival of my guests! 
I had ordered it days before.—But these idle speculations 
about Horace won’t help any, I suppose; the Goddards 
themselves can scarcely be more anxious than I am for 
some real results from this investigation!” 

“Well, the inspector’ll be around in a little while, if 
you’re home.” McCarty signaled to- Dennis with a jerk 
of his head. “There’s something in his mind he wants 
to talk to you about, and maybe you can help him. 
We’ve not made much headway, and that’s a fact, but 
’tis the worst case ever the department handled.” 

There was an injured note in his voice and Orbit re¬ 
sponded with sympathetic tact: 

“I’m sure you’re doing all you can and I shall be glad 
to see the inspector or either of you at any time.” He 
pressed the bell and as Ching Lee threw open the door 
he added: “The medical examiner has come to no definite 
conclusion about the girl’s death? If it was really gas 
of some sort it seems odd its nature can’t be determined. 
But I speak ignorantly, of course; I know little or 
nothing of chemistry in any form. ... I shall wait to 
hear from the inspector.” 

“I don’t get you this morning at all!” Dennis re¬ 
marked plaintively when the door of Orbit’s house had 
closed behind them. “While I waited I saw you kidding 
the little heathen out in the side court and then you 
went to the back, and Orbit came in and I had to string 
him. For what did we go there in the first place? 
You’d little to ask him and you got less for it, when 


MAX 263 

you did finally come in! Is it stalling around for time, 
you are?” 

“There’ll be no more stalling, Denny!” There was a 
new note in McCarty’s voice. “ ’Twas little I got from 
Orbit himself, but we’ll go to Goddard now. I want to 
use his telephone.” 

“Why didn’t you use Orbit’s?” Dennis demanded. 
Then a light broke over his face. “ ’Tis the inspector 
you’ll be calling up and there’s them in that house back 
there—! Mac, for the love of the saints, have you 
found out something?. Have you struck it at last?” 

The dog Max who was lying in the patch of sun¬ 
light that filtered down between the houses, raised his 
head at the eager expectancy of Dennis’ tone and Mc¬ 
Carty glanced at him thoughtfully. 

“ ’Twas not me that struck anything, Denny, and ’tis 
only a guess yet but ’twas it ought to have struck me be¬ 
fore this!” he replied. “We’ll have a little while to wait, 
and I’ll thank you to keep Goddard and that Trafford 
talking and not leave them out of your sight whilst 
I’m telephoning; I don’t want either, of them listening 
ini” 

“Then ’tis one of them, as well as somebody in Orbit’s 
house—!” Dennis gaped in amazement. “Mac, what 
kind of a devilish plot is it? You said last night ’twas 
too sickening to talk about—!” 

“’Tis worse!” McCarty interrupted tersely. “Let be 
till we see what comes!” 

Winch the butler, looking more aged and fragile than 
ever, ushered them into the drawing-room where Goddard 
presently appeared followed by Trafford. The stout little 
man had changed markedly in the past few days; his 
eyes were dim and the flesh of his face hung in folds as 


264 


ANNIHILATION 


though deflated, while his voice had the trembling over¬ 
tone of that of an old man. 

“You—you have news for us, McCarty? Some word 
has reached you of—of Horace?” 

“I think I know where he will be in a little while, Mr. 
Goddard,” McCarty replied quietly. “I’ll have to ask 
you to wait, though, till the inspector gets here, and I’ll 
have to ’phone him. Can I use the one in your smoking- 
room ? I want to be dead sure it’s private for I’ve got to 
talk confidential.—Thanks, Trafford, I know the way.” 

Waiting only for Goddard’s nod he cast a quick ad¬ 
monitory glance at Dennis and hastened away. The lat¬ 
ter cast about wildly in his mind for a safe topic to pur¬ 
sue, but the burden was lifted from him. 

What is it, Riordan? For God’s sake, what does 
McCarty mean?” Goddard turned to him. 

I ve no notion,” Dennis replied, truthfully enough. 
“He’s been working on something for the last day or 
two while I was on—on other duty, but I expect things 
will be moving now. You’ve heard nothing yourself?” 

“Nothing!” Goddard raised a shaking hand to his 
forehead. I tell you, Riordan, we can’t—we can’t en¬ 
dure much more of this! If my boy were in his grave 
we would at least know it and learn somehow to bear 
it but the uncertainty is driving us mad! Unless we know 
the truth soon I shall lose my wife, too!” 

We 11 know. Dennis spoke with the assurance of 
utter conviction. “Mac’s not one to start anything he 
can t finish and I ve worked on too many cases with him 
not to know the signs. If he says the lad will be found 
in a little while he means it but—but maybe it’ll be sick 
or something he’ll be. Worrying, you see, and being 
away from home—!” 


MAX 


265 


Words failed him, for he had read in that ominous 
quietude of McCarty’s voice a hint of trouble yet to come. 
He floundered desperately in a tender-hearted attempt to 
pave the way. The situation was saved for him by the 
sudden reappearance of McCarty himself in the door¬ 
way. 

Denny, go out and call Yost in; the inspector has 
instructions for him.” The latent excitement had in¬ 
tensified in his tone. “Don’t tell the whole block what 
you’re doing, either!” 

I don’t know, myself!” Dennis retorted, preparing 
nevertheless to obey. “Shall I take his place?” 

“Now you’re talking!” McCarty nodded approval. 
“He’ll have a message for you when he comes out and 
twill be all right to do what he says. The other night 
in my rooms when we were starting out to pay a couple 
of calls I gave you something to carry; did you think 
to bring it with you now?” 

The revolver! Dennis started violently and one hand 
sought his hip pocket involuntarily as he nodded. 

“All right. You’ll know what to do with it after 
you’ve talked to Yost. Send him in.” 

Dennis departed, found the headquarters’ man patrol¬ 
ling listlessly on the sidewalk and delivered the message. 
Then he paced from gate to gate in a daze of bewildered 
thought. Things were indeed moving. He could not 
fathom what was in McCarty’s mind, but he felt a grim 
portent in the very air of the sunlit, semi-deserted block, 
like the shuddering silence before a blast. 

The elder Sloane returned; the housemaid from Mrs. 
Bellamy’s who had taken charge of little Maude imme¬ 
diately after Wednesday’s tragedy went out upon an 
errand and came back before Yost left the Goddard 


266 


ANNIHILATION 


house. When he reached Dennis’ side his former list¬ 
lessness had vanished. 

“Who’s gone out of the Mall?” he demanded. 

“Only a hired girl from Mrs. Bellamy’s, and she came 
in again.” Dennis replied. “What is it? Mac said 
you’d tell me what to do, and he asked had I a gun with 
me. I have.” 

“Then go take the east gate.” Yost pointed. “Open 
it if any one wants to come in but let no one out if you 
have to drill them full of holes! Get me?” 

“ ’Tis the clearest thing I’ve heard this day!” Dennis 
averred. “I’ll do no drilling but there’ll no one pass me! 
What in hell is doing, do you know?” 

“Only that the inspector’s coming as fast as the chief’s 
own car can get here and he’s bringing a young army with 
him! It looks like the end of it, Riordan!—Hey, there 
goes the Bellamy butler! I’ll have to head him off, for 
I m taking the west gate myself. There’s somebody 
wanting to get in yours.” 

Dennis hurried to the gate opening on the Avenue and 
with much ceremony admitted an open touring car in 
which sat a young lady so be wilder ingly beautiful that 
he gaped after her in respectful admiration until she 
disappeared in the Parsons house. Was that the old 
gentleman’s niece ? He was recalled to his present duties 
only when the chauffeur turned and drove straight to¬ 
ward him once more, halting only a bare few feet away. 

“Hi, there! Open the gate!” 

“Nothing doing,” Dennis retorted firmly. “Orders 
from police headquarters. Them that gets in, stays in.” 

“Yah! You green rookie! I’m Mr. Parsons’ chauf¬ 
feur, if that means anything to you, and I’m in a hurry!” 

“Then you’re going to be disappointed.” With a gin- 


MAX 


287 


gerly reluctance which would have meant sudden death 
had he been faced by an earnest antagonist, Dennis 
produced his revolver. “ ’T would mean nothing if you 
drove the chariot of the Angel Gabriel, you’d not get 
through that gate!” 

A wordy combat ensued interrupted only by the ap¬ 
pearance on the Avenue side of the barrier of young Mr. 
Brinsley Sloane. He hesitated, turning slightly pale at 
sight of Dennis’ formidable weapon. The latter called 
out peremptorily: 

“’Round to the other gate if you want to get in! 
This guy’ll get out if you open this one! Police orders!” 

“Really!” Brinsley Sloane stared through his huge- 
rimmed glasses. “This is extraordinary! What has the 
fellow done, officer?” 

Dennis swelled visibly at the appellation. 

“Nothing yet,” he admitted. “He won’t, either, un¬ 
less he’s wishful to croak!” 

“Is the fellow mad?” Young Sloane addressed the 
chauffeur who, scenting an ally, broke into injured ex¬ 
planations. The argument became a triangular affair 
although the scion of the Sloanes remained discreetly 
on the neutral ground beyond the gate. It was ended 
at last by a subdued hubbub at the farther one. Dennis 
turned to behold the inspector drive slowly in with several 
familiar officials of the department; his car was followed 
by a larger one packed with husky men and bristling with 
long-handled shovels. 

Dennis uttered a startled exclamation and Brinsley 
Sloane let himself hurriedly in with his key while the 
Parsons’ chauffeur no longer exhibited any desire to 
depart. Martin appeared suddenly from nowhere and 
addressed the astounded deputy. 


268 ANNIHILATION 

“Beat it, Riordan; Mac wants you! I’ll take over your 
job.” 

Dennis needed no second bidding. He set off at a 
shambling run, unconsciously brandishing his revolver as 
he went and Goddard, Trafford and McCarty emerged 
from the house to meet him. He noticed as in a daze 
that the tutor braced his employer with an almost filial 
manner and the older man leaned heavily upon him, pallid 
but composed. 

The men with the shovels were piling out of the second 
car and he saw that they carried in addition enormous 
sooty baskets. His eyes turned wonderingly to McCarty 
as the inspector hurried up. 

“All set, Mac! The boys are posted all around the 
walls. What do you want done?” 

“Open that coal chute first!” McCarty pointed to the 
square iron plate like a trap-door in the center of the 
side court, over which Max was still hovering. “Then 
send your men down in Orbit’s cellar to dig like hell! 
There’s thirty tons to be moved by the ten of them in an 
hour and a thousand dollars from Mr. Goddard to the 
guy that takes out the last shovelful. Go to it!” 

Ching Lee had appeared in the front door of the Orbit 
house and Jean at the side one, while Andre peered from 
the kitchen window. All at once the houseman was 
brushed aside and Orbit strode out. 

“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded. 

“We’re going to move your coal, Mr. Orbit,—the coal 
that was put in so quick the very hour that Horace God¬ 
dard disappeared!” McCarty replied. He turned abruptly 
to the group who were lifting the cover of the chute. As 
it rose and then fell back ringing on the pavement, a 


MAX 


269 


longdrawn howl broke upon the air; Max, tense and 
quivering, was gazing down into the aperture and Mc¬ 
Carty motioned toward him. 

“ ’Twas him and not me got the hunch first, inspector. 
’Twas the lad’s pal, here—Max!” 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE BLACK PYRE 

f^/^OOD GOD!” Orbit exclaimed in horrified accents. 

"‘You don’t mean that the little fellow tumbled 
down the chute! That he was buried beneath the coal!— 
Goddard, my old friend, what can I say to you! Surely 
this is only a vague supposition, a last resort! It would 
be too dreadful, too pitiful!” 

Goddard’s face worked but he was unable to reply 
and Orbit turned to the men who, with baskets and 
shovels, were filing around the rear of the house. 

‘Til add a thousand to Mr. Goddard’s! Work as you 
never did before!—Inspector, can such a fearful thing 
have occurred? It is incredible! How could the little 
chap have fallen down to the cellar without being seen ? I 
suppose any outcry he might have made would have been 
drowned by the noise of the coal itself but—oh, it is too 
utterly horrible!” 

His shocked, broken tones trailed away into silence 
and then from below there ascended through the open 
chute the ring of shovels and the clatter of coal falling 
rhythmically into the baskets. A tortured groan was 
forced from Goddard’s lips. Max crouched with his fore¬ 
paws hanging over the edge of the aperture and his 
nose low between them, the hair rising in a ridge along 
his back and a soft, anxious whine pulsing from his 
throat. 


270 


THE BLACK PYRE 


271 


Dennis turned away with a shiver, and saw that Gard¬ 
ner Sloane had joined his son on the fringe of the group. 
Snape and the maids of Mrs. Bellamy’s staff were gath¬ 
ered in a little knot just behind, with the Parsons’ chauf¬ 
feur, Danny Sayre the page boy, and the aged butler of 
the Sloanes, while Benjamin Parsons himself had 
emerged upon the steps of his home and the lower win¬ 
dows of the Goddard house were thronged with the serv¬ 
ants. From a window just above Orbit’s conservatory 
the staring face of little Fu Moy looked down in shrink¬ 
ing wonder. 

The rhythmic, dreadful scrape and rumble from be¬ 
neath their feet went on as though it would never end. 
Goddard swayed weakly but Trafford flung an arm about 
his shoulders. The inspector had replied to Orbit with 
noncommittal gravity and now they conversed together in 
an aside, while Dennis edged over to McCarty. 

“Why ever didn’t you tell me?” he whispered. “No 
wonder you said ’twas fair sickening to think of, Mac! 
If the poor boy’s found down there ’twill be one crime 
that’s no crime at all! How did you know?” 

“I don’t now!” McCarty responded candidly. “’Tis 
the only guess, though, that will cover the facts as they 
come to me, but Max needed none; I’m banking on the 
dog’s instinct, Denny.” 

“Look at the back of him! It makes my own hair 
lift the hat from my head fl0 see it!” Dennis shivered 
again. “Will they never have done with the shoveling? 
I could scream like a woman!” 

Some of the Bellamy servants had indeed begun to sob 
hysterically but they quieted at a look from McCarty. 
Parsons was slowly crossing the street and his chauffeur 
stepped aside for him. Dennis saw that several older 


272 


ANNIHILATION 


men from the detective bureau were circulating unob¬ 
trusively among the different groups and two of the of¬ 
ficials who had come in the car with the inspector ap¬ 
proached him now. He presented them to Orbit and the 
interrupted consultation was resumed now between the 
four. 

Dennis surreptitiously took out his watch, an ancient 
affair of the turnip variety. The men had been at work 
for nearly forty minutes; he recalled the blowing of the 
one o’clock whistles when Martin came to relieve him 
at the east gate. In a little while, now, they would 
know the worst! If only the dog would stop whin¬ 
ing! 

He looked at Trafford and the young man met his 
glance with a stare of agonized inquiry but the man 
he was supporting reeled and he braced himself for a 
firmer hold. Then Benjamin Parsons stepped quietly to 
Goddard’s other side. 

“Lean on me, my friend.” He spoke in the gentlest of 
accents. “I am old but strong, an elder brother here to 
lend a hand. We will wait, and pray.” 

Goddard’s dull eyes filmed and he rested his hand in 
the arm offered, saying no word. A lump rose in Dennis’ 
throat. 

‘ Mac, for the love of God, will they finish this ? ’Tis 
more than mortal can bear! I’ve dug at a fallen wall with 
the bare hands of me and the best lads of my company 
buried under it, but ’twas not as bad as this! Orbit’s all 
in, and no wonder!” 

Henry Orbit had turned and was gazing at the coal 
chute in horrified fascination, his highly-bred face quiver¬ 
ing and eyes glowing with an awful intensity. As though 
drawn toward it against his will he advanced a step or 


THE BLACK PYRE 


273 


two and the officials also moved forward. Then he 
seemed for the first time to behold McCarty. 

“Had you* the least suspicion of this when you came to 
me an hour or so ago?” he asked, his voice a mere tone¬ 
less breath. “Why did you not tell me? I have three 
strong men in my house and I myself would have led 
them! Is this your doing?” 

“The inspector brought them, Mr. Orbit.” McCarty 
replied. “I told you he was coming in a little while but 
he don’t always tell me what he’s got planned.” 

“He should at least have notified me!” Orbit ran his 
hand through his dark, graying hair. “I could have 
started the work.—But this is sheer madness! The child 
cannot have met such a horrible death!” 

“We’ll know soon enough.” McCarty’s tone held a 
note of sternness. “In a minute or two more—!” 

As though his words were a signal, the clank and rat¬ 
tling patter from below ceased abruptly and a moment of 
electrified stillness ensued. Then it was broken by a ris¬ 
ing murmur of hoarse voices which were in turn drowned 
by the sustained hail of coal being flung in every direc¬ 
tion. 

Orbit uttered a stifled exclamation and then stood im¬ 
movable as a second groan forced its way from Goddard. 
One of the Bellamy maids shrieked aloud. Then the 
noise from the cellar ceased once more and the dog rose 
slowly lifting his nose into the air. A low, wailing cry 
broke from him. At that moment a grimy head and 
shoulders rose in the opening of the coal chute and a 
hoarse, shuddering voice addressed McCarty. 

“We’ve—found it, sir!” 

The various groups merged and swept toward the 
aperture then shrank back again in horror. A hubbub 


274 


ANNIHILATION 


of subdued cries came from among them but Eustace 
Goddard did not hear. His head had fallen forward, his 
knees sagged and doubled and he slumped, insensible, be¬ 
tween the two who supported him. Instantly two plain¬ 
clothes men were beside them and the unconscious man 
was carried into his house. 

It was significant that neither McCarty, the inspector, 
nor the two officials had moved to assist him. Now as 
Orbit, after his first horrified recoil from the brusque an¬ 
nouncement, turned and hurried into the house they fol¬ 
lowed, with Dennis bringing up the rear. 

Aware of his doubtful status in the eyes of the strange 
officials he remained discreetly in the background and 
when he caught up to the little group they were standing 
in the rear hall before the open door leading to the 
cellar steps, with Orbit at their head and Ching Lee, 
Andre and Jean by the pantry. 

Orbit was staring down into the brazen, orange glow 
of the electric lights in the cellar, listening to the shuffle 
of feet and the murmur of rough voices lowered in pity. 
Then there came a slow tread and two of the shovelers 
appeared bearing between them something slender and 
pathetically small wrapped in a heavy dark cloth. 

As they ascended the stairs the servants and even the 
officials drew back but Orbit stood his ground with no 
sound or movement. Only his eyes followed the men 
with their burden as they mounted, passing him so closely 
that he could have reached out and touched them. Then 
he turned and passed upstairs to his sitting-room, fol¬ 
lowed by his uninvited guests. 

The murmur outside rose to a swelling chorus of cries 
and then was abruptly shut out by the closing of the 
door. Orbit turned with both hands raised to his head 


THE BLACK PYRE 


275 


and a shuddering groan came from his shaking lips. 

“This is horrible!” he gasped. “Gentlemen, I shall ask 
you for an explanation, but not at this moment—I am too 
inexpressibly shocked—” 

“The explaining will have to be done now, Orbit!” 
McCarty, after a glance at his superior, stepped forward. 
“ ’Twill not come from us, either!” 

“What do you mean?” Orbit demanded. “Surely you 
are not mad enough to insinuate that I knew that the 
child was lying there ? It is monstrous! Do you think 
I would not have let you know?” 

He turned to the inspector. 

“Inspector, when did you learn what had become of the 
poor little fellow?” 

“I didn’t; it was McCarty,” the inspector admitted 
frankly. “He told me this morning that he might have 
news for me by noon but until he telephoned ordering the 
squad of men with shovels I hadn’t an inkling.” 

“Then you—?” Orbit turned again to McCarty. 

“ ’Twas the dog first put it in my head by hovering 
all the time about that coal chute,” the latter responded. 
There was a new note in his voice as he went on. “It 
struck me too, as kind of funny you’d be having that coal 
put in an hour before your party, dirtying the place 
all up; even if it had been ordered you could have sent 
it away again for you’d not be lighting up your furnace 
for weeks yet. I found then that you never ordered it 
till half an hour before it got here and you’d ’phoned 
three times, at that, to hurry it up, yet you told me this 
morning that it had been arranged for days ago. About 
twenty minutes before you sent for it first you went down 
to the kitchen and got a glass of milk from Andre. Did 
you drink it yourself, Henry Orbit?” 


276 


ANNIHILATION 


“I did not!” Orbit’s eyes seemed burning into his face. 
“It was for Vite, the monkey!” 

“But Vite was locked up at the top of the house to be 
out of the way of the party and Ching Lee had the only 
key; Fu Moy told me so.” 

“Fu Moy is only a child and does not understand 
English well; Vite was not locked up until just before 
my guests arrived. What are you trying to insinuate?” 

“Nothing. I’m telling you what I know. Fu Moy 
understands a lot more than you think, Orbit! What 
time did Horace Goddard come over to see you Tuesday 
afternoon? If that glass of milk was for the monkey, 
why didn’t you ring for it instead of going yourself to 
the kitchen; was it because you wanted nobody to know 
the lad was here? What did you put in that milk, Orbit, 
to make Horace unconscious or kill him, the way you 
poisoned Hughes ? I know from Andre how you got all 
the servants out of the kitchen and pantries after, so,you 
could get the lad’s body down to the cellar without being 
seen but why did you do it? What reason had you 
for bringing such a horrible death on the child who’d done 
you no harm ? What reason did you have for murdering 
the valet who’d looked out for your comfort for more 
than twenty years? Why did you put poison gas made 
from the formula you bought from Hinton Sherard into 
the Bellamy baby’s toy balloon to kill both her and her 
nurse? How did you fix it to burst when it did and 
what chance had you to pump the gas into it? You’re 
far from crazy, Orbit! Why did you take the lives of 
these people you had no grudge against, no reason for 
wanting out of the way? Was it because of the blood 
that’s in you from generations back urging you on? An¬ 
swer me that, Henry Orbit!” 


THE BLACK PYRE 


277 


“I shall answer nothing—to you.” Orbit’s dark eyes 
blazed but his voice was dangerously calm. “You admit 
that I am not insane; I cannot say as much for you in 
the face of these monstrous accusations!—Inspector, if 
you are in authority at this highly irregular proceeding, 
am I to understand that I am formally charged with this 
atrocious series of crimes? Am I to consider myself 
under arrest?” 

Inspector Druet glanced uncertainly at McCarty and 
the latter nodded, a world of mingled demand and en¬ 
treaty in the slight gesture. The inspector hesitated for 
a moment and then drew a deep breath. 

“You are!” he replied. “I arrest you, Henry Orbit, 
for the murders of Alfred Hughes, Horace Goddard and 
Lucette Guerin!” 

The two other officials after a startled glance between 
them advanced one on each side of Orbit, but he shrugged 
and took a step forward. 

“That being the case, I shall not say another word. 
Now you may play on this ridiculous farce for the mo¬ 
ment. In the meantime, may I ask your indulgence for 
a few minutes? I desire merely to seat myself at 
that desk over there and write a short note to the one 
person in the world most interested, besides myself, in 
this extraordinary situation. I shall seal and address 
the envelope and leave it upon the desk, for you to deliver 
at your discretion. Lock the drawers of the desk if you 
will; I can assure you, however, that I have no intention 
of taking any weapon from them to defend myself or at¬ 
tempt assault upon you!” 

The contempt in his tone was galling and even the 
inspector winced beneath it, so compelling and dominant 
was the personality of the man before him. He nodded. 


278 


ANNIHILATION 


Write your note, Mr. Orbit, only make it short. If 
the news of this gets out before we can take you down¬ 
town all the reserves in the city couldn’t protect you!” 

Dennis turned in stupefied amazement to McCarty, but 
the latter was watching Orbit who had seated himself at 
the desk. He wrote, not hurriedly but without hesitation; 
a faintly amused smile curved his mobile lips, and when 
he had finished he sealed the envelope with a steady hand, 
wrote a name and a single line beneath it, propped it 
against the inkwell and rose. 

“Mow, gentlemen, I am at your disposal,” he said. “I 
am ready to accompany you —if you can find me!” 

The last words were uttered in a tone of ringing chal¬ 
lenge and his hand slipped beneath the edge of the desk. 
On the instant, before the five men grouped before him 
could move or draw a breath the room was filled with 
rolling billows of black, foul smoke which belched forth 
in clouds from around the wainscoting of the wall as 
from the mouth of a volcano, obliterating everything 
about them. 

Startled, warning exclamations came from the two of¬ 
ficials and a cry from the inspector: 

“To the windows! Look out for poison gas!” 

McCarty had groped grimly forward but Dennis was 
more thoroughly at home in the crisis than he had been 
at any time since the inception of the affair. He shouted 
directions and encouragement, darting about as uncon¬ 
cernedly and with as much certitude as though his eyes 
could penetrate the murky, opaque gloom which enveloped 
him. 

The sound of their own rushing footsteps and the 
successive crash of furniture as the officials lunged against 
it drowned out all others until close at hand a door 


THE BLACK PYRE 


279 


slammed and a mocking chuckle of laughter seemed to 
drift back to them. 

“He’s gone!” One of the officials gasped, as he found 
a window at last and flung it open. 

“He won’t go far!”* the inspector retorted grimly. 
“Find all the windows and doors and let’s get a draught 
through! I want that letter he wrote!” 

In the rush of fresh air which came swirling in, the 
room rapidly cleared and they saw that it was indeed 
empty of any presence save their own but the white square 
of the envelope tilted against the inkwell was plainly dis¬ 
cernible and the inspector seized upon it. 

Choking, strangling, with smarting, streaming eyes, 
he peered closely at the inscription and then threw up his 
head. 

“Great guns! It’s addressed to McCarty!” 


CHAPTER XXII 


ANNIHILATION 

M cCARTY stumbled forward and took the envelope 
held out to him, turning to the window where he 
bent forward' for the rush of cool air to play over his 
face. It was addressed simply to: “Ex-Roundsman Mc¬ 
Carty” and the second line read: “Delivered by hand.” 
Slitting it open he glanced quickly down the few lines 
it contained and then at his companions. 

“ ’Tis for all of us, I’m thinking,” he said. “Listen! 

“ 'My dear McCarty. It has been a pleasure to meet 
such a man as you and we part with regret, at least on 
my side. You are quite correct in your deductions as 
far as you have expounded them and I regret that I can¬ 
not wait to hear you reconstruct your complete case but 
time presses. The last drawer of this desk at which I 
write has a false bottom; remove it and you will find a 
portion of my diary for the past fortnight, placed there 
in readiness for this eventuality. I bequeath it to you for 
your further information and in most sincere admiration, 
for where I go I may take nothing material with me, 
although I shall not leave my body behind. I am not go¬ 
ing to death but to annihilation. Checkmate! 

“ ‘Henry Orbit.’ ” 

“What does he mean ?” the inspector demanded. “What 
kind of an escape has he planned? Not take his body 
280 


ANNIHILATION 281 

with him and yet not leave it behind? What’s that about 
'annihilation’ ?” 

“We may know for ourselves if we stand 1 here guessing’ 
about it instead of stopping him!” McCarty thrust the 
letter into his pocket and made for the door beyond which 
the two French servants and the Chinese one had halted. 
“He’s planned to destroy himself entirely, body and all, 
and if it’s by blowing the whole house up I’d not be sur¬ 
prised ! Come on!” 

The others hurried* after him but in the hall he paused 
to confront Ching Lee. 

“ ’Twas the man you worked for, Orbit, who was the 
murderer!” he announced. “You knew that, though; 
you suspected it from the first, after the queer way Hughes 
took sick from drinking the medicine Orbit mixed for 
him before dinner! That’s why you went next morning 
dressed like a Chinese laborer down to the quarter where 
Hughes died, to get what dope you could about it! If 
you don’t want to get pinched for being accessory, you 
come clean! Which way did he go just now?” 

“I did not see.” Ching Lee’s face had betrayed no 
slightest flicker of emotion and his tone was perfectly 
composed. “I came upstairs only when the shouts and 
the odor of smoke led me to think that the house was on 
fire. I saw no one, nothing.” 

“Where is his laboratory? Where is it that he locks 
himself away sometimes, a- place that none of' the rest 
of you enters ?” McCarty rapped out the questions like 
shots from an automatic. “There’s not a minute to spare! 
Is it upstairs or down?” 

Ching Lee was silent, but Jean with chattering teeth 
spoke up suddenly : 

“It is upstairs! I see him when I reach the head of the 


282 


ANNIHILATION 


staircase. He rush’ from that room through all the 
smoke and he is laughing! Then he mount to the next 
floor and on above, and in the attic there is a room which 
none but he may enter, which' he guards with a heavy 
steel door—!” 

“Show us where it is!” McCarty ordered. “That's 
where I fell down. I might have figured that a guy 
with his brains would have looked out for everything, 
even failure, and planned a way out for himself!” 

He started on a shambling trot for the back stairs, 
with the others crowding after, but Jean slipped past him 
and leaped up three steps at a time. Past the guest rooms 
and servants’ quarters to the storerooms and the attic 
above the searchers hurried, pausing only before a small 
wooden- door. 

“I thought you said: ’twas made of steel!” McCarty 
turned the handle and then put his shoulder to a panel. 
“We’ll have to break through.” 

“It is but the false one, the cover,” explained Jean. 
“Just beyond is the real door of steel.” 

“You’re sure he came this way? There’s nowhere 
else he could be hiding?” McCarty glanced at the 
Frenchman and then turned to his companions. “Stand 
back! We’ll have this down!” 

But the small door was stouter than it looked and it 
required the combined efforts of Dennis and one of the 
officials as well before it yielded and crashed inward, only 
to lean, as Jean had said, against a second door a foot 
or two beyond, which presented to their impatient gaze 
a solid sheet of tempered steel. 

“We’d never get through that except with soup and 
God knows what’s beyond it that would blow us all into 
the next world!” McCarty exclaimed. “Inspector, will 


ANNIHILATION 


283 


you 'phone for an expert from headquarters? There’s 
nothing tO' do but wait. We know where he is, though; 
that’s some comfort!’' 

The inspector hurried downstairs and the others 
grouped themselves before the wall of steel separating 
them from that which lay on the other side, after clear¬ 
ing away the debris of the wrecked door. 

“There's not a sound from in there!” Dennis moved 
over to McCarty. “What’s he doing, do you suppose? 
Fixing a train of powder, belike ?" 

“He is not!” McCarty responded. “If he’d meant to 
blow us up he’d have done it down in his sitting-room in¬ 
stead of turning that infernal smoke on us. He must 
have had that all fixed and ready to blind us, so that he 
could make whatever kind of a getaway he’d arranged. 
You couldn't hear a cannon go off behind that solid 
steel, but whatever he’s doing, 'tis only to himself; you’ll 
mind the letter he wrote me ? He wouldn’t have spoke of 
his diary unless he intended us to read it and it’s all 
part and parcel of his character, Denny., He couldn’t 
bear to go without the world knowing how clever he 
was!” 

“ 'Clever!’ ” Dennis shuddered. “But what did he 
do it all for, Mac? You asked him that when you ac¬ 
cused him and he didn’t answer. He’d no reason and 
yet he wasn’t crazy! He’d such a grand manner and a 
way of making you feel like the scum of the earth in his 
presence without even trying to, that I would never have 
suspected him in the world! How you came to guess it 
is beyond me!” 

“I’d the key to it all right from the start, only I didn’t 
know it!” McCarty responded as the inspector bounded 
up the stairs. “I’m only disgusted that the truth didn’t 


284 


ANNIHILATION 


come to me sooner, and maybe the little lad and the nurse 
Lucette would have been spared.” 

“Two of the best men in the department are on their 
way!” the inspector announced. “I had to stop to send 
in a second call for reserves to hold back the crowd that's 
trying to storm the gates, for the news has got out some¬ 
how! Martin and Yost sent in the first call but the 
boys who responded can do no more with that mob than 
a one-armed sheriff in a riot!—Any sign from in there?” 

The officials shook their heads and Jean remarked: 

“I have seen once, when he goes in and does not know 
that I am near to him. Before he close the door I think 
that I see others still beyond this, but they are open and at 
the end- is a room with shelves covered with bottles and 
glass tubes of a strange shape. On the floor is a great 
round tank of some metal higher than one’s head! I 
think then that he is perhaps a scientist, a great man! It 
is only after Hughes die and then the little Horace disap¬ 
pear that I begin to think he is a demon!—Here is 
Andre.” 

The stout chef had labored up the stairs and behind him 
the flowing robes of Ching Lee moved like a shadow. 

“You shall get him?” the former demanded. “You 
shall put him in that chair of electricity? Parbleu! 
When I think of the little Lucette so pretty and good, 
and the little Horace, I could run my knives through 
his heart! It is I who give him with these hands the 
glass of milk with which he drugs the little Horace and 
then I watch while that mountain of coal descend into 
the chute and I suspect nothing! It is only when my 
countrywoman die there before him and they say it is the 
poison gas that I think of this room and the so horrible 
odors which come from it when he open the door!” 


ANNIHILATION 285 

“When did you see him come here last?” McCarty 
asked. 

“On the afternoon of Wednesday, but a half hour be¬ 
fore he cry out for help from the conservatory where 
Lucette dies!” He spread out his small fat hands in an 
expressive gesture. “I think it is to this room that he 
comes for I am in mine with the door a little open and 
he pass quickly and without sound* going up the stairs. 
He carries something round and 1 blue on the end of a stick 
and I think that I must be mistake’ for it appears like the 
toy balloon of a child! Nevertheless I watch and in a so 
short time, a few minutes, he comes down again, still 
carrying the balloon. I tell of it to Ching Lee later but 
he has not seen it in the conservatory and he does not 
believe.” 

“Look here, Ching Lee, why didn’t you tell somebody 
what you knew?” McCarty addressed the Chinaman 
who stood aside, silent and seemingly impassive. “Why 
did you let Orbit go on with his crimes when a word 
to us would have put him where he could do no more 
harm?” 

“Mr. Orbit is rich, of a great family and power in high 
places, and—he is a white man.” Ching Lee responded 
in his unemotional sing-song tones. “I too am of high 
degree and not without honor in my own land but I was 
forced to leave it and here I am a poor man, a servant 
without friends or influence—and I am yellow. Who 
would believe my word against his when I had no proof ? 
I would have been cast into your prison but even there 
Mr. Orbit would have reached me and silenced my tongue. 
There was the little Fu Moy to consider, my nephew who 
is to be educated and go back with much to teach my 
people; I could not leave him without protection. I 


28(5 


ANNIHILATION 


could only wait for you, who are white men, too, to see 
what lay before your eyes.” 

“There’s something in that!” McCarty conceded. 
“Isn’t that the bell? If it’s the men we’ve sent for bring 
them right up.” 

“It is possible that he have shoot himself before we ar¬ 
rive here,” remarked Jean. “There is a pistol which he 
keeps always in a drawer of the little table beside his 
bed and to-day when he thrust me aside at the door of 
the cardroom to rush out and learn why all those men 
with shovels have come I feel it in his hip pocket as he 
pushes his way past. It is loaded always; that I know, 
for more than once I have looked at it.” 

Dennis glanced questioningly at McCarty who shook 
his head. 

“He’s taking his body with him where he’s gone,” 
he reminded the other in an undertone. “He’ll not do 
that with the shot of a gun!” 

Ching Lee reappeared with the two experts armed with 
tools and bags. After a cursory examination of the steel 
door one of the latter turned to the inspector. 

“Can’t be done in less than an hour unless we take a 
chance and blow it off, and you said there might be ex¬ 
plosives behind it that would wreck the block,” he an¬ 
nounced. “I don’t promise to do it in that time but 
we’ll work as fast as we can.” 

“Let’s go and have a look at that diary in the mean¬ 
time,” suggested McCarty. “Jean thinks there are more 
doors beyond like this one and it may be night before 
they’re open! The boys can let us know when they’ve 
got through.” 

“All right.” The inspector turned, addressing the two 
officials. “Want to come along? If it really is his diary, 


ANNIHILATION 


287 


it ought to be about the strangest document that ever 
fell into the hands of the department.” 

With a few minor directions to the rest he led the 
way back to the sitting-room and closed the door. The 
air was now quite clear of smoke and only a faint, noisome 
odor lingered behind. 

McCarty seated himself in the chair lately occupied 
by Orbit himself and drew out the last drawer of the 
desk. It was filled with open envelopes bearing cancelled 
stamps and he scattered them on the floor in his haste to 
empty it. 

“He told the truth about the false bottom,” he an¬ 
nounced. “I can feel it give but I wonder how does it 
open ?” 

One of the officials stepped forward. 

“Shall I try, Mac?” he asked. “I was a custom house 
inspector years ago and there isn’t a smuggler’s dodge I’m 
not on to; that either lifts or slides and there may be a 
spring.” 

“Go to it,” McCarty acquiesced briefly, and the other 
complied. 

“Look here, Mac!” The inspector looked up suddenly. 
“Who chloroformed Orbit the other night?” 

McCarty chuckled. 

“He did, himself! I got that the minute I saw" the 
bottle, for there wasn’t enough gone from it to put a 
kitten out! The towel was soaked, but with water, and 
he’d just sprinkled enough choloroform on it to smell. 
He didn’t want to lose his wits, you see, only to make us 
think he was unconscious so he could get a line on what 
we were after and hear our talk. He must have heard 
us coming up the stairs and looked out or else doped out 
that it would be us, for it was Denny and me that broke 


288 


ANNIHILATION 


in that night. He paid me a return call the next and 
rigged up a gun to shoot me in the dark, but I found it 
first and fired it through the roof!” 

“ ’Twas that I heard!” Dennis exclaimed. “Glory be! 
Well I knew you were too old a hand to let it go off 
accidental, like you told me, but little I thought you’d 
been near murdered, or I’d not have left you, duty or no 
duty—!” 

“There you are!” The detective lieutenant rose from 
his knees with the false bottom of the drawer in his 
hand. “It was a new one on me after all, but I man¬ 
aged to work it. There’s a lot of papers underneath 
that look as though they’d been torn from a blankbook 
and they’re covered with writing.” 

It s Orbit s! McCarty gathered the loose sheets up 
and spread them on the desk before him. “Do you mind 
when he wrote that list for me here in this very room, of 
the guests he’d had during the last few months? The 
writing is the same, and ’tis dated; it looks like the diary, 
all right! Do you want to read it, inspector? I’m not 
much good at it, and if he uses as big words as he talks 
with—!” 

Inspector Druet took the pages from him and seated 
himself near the window. For a long moment he sat 
silent glancing over the papers and as he read his face 
darkened and then paled. Then with a sudden start he 
looked over to McCarty. 

My God, this is frightful! The man was the great¬ 
est wretch that ever lived! He must have been mad, of 
course, but listen! This is dated the thirteenth; that 
would be a week ago last Monday.—T succeeded in mak¬ 
ing it to-day from the formula and tried it on the white 
kitten from next door. The result was amazing! If it 


ANNIHILATION 


289 


had been known a few years ago the history of the war 
would have been changed! If I could only experiment 
with it on a human, what a magnificent way it would be 
for me to learn the thrill of that last experience that 
awaits me! To take the place of providence, to play at 
fate, to make destiny! The longing haunts me, I cannot 
rest, I must know that ultimate sensation of power! I 
can't use the gas, though; I don’t need to see the death 
I bring about and it must come far from the house. It 
will have to be the Calabar bean after all, but whom shall 
I choose? Not Andre, his souffiees are admirable, and 
Jean is the only servant who ever dusted my room and 
left things where I could find them; not Fu Moy or Ching 
Lee, for one never knows with these silent, yellow people 
when revenge will come. Hughes’ services are invalu¬ 
able to me but he is a dead loss to society, it might even 
be benefited by his removal. I must decide!’ ” 

“That was it!” McCarty nodded. “The longing for 
power, to feel that he was the biggest man in the world; 
ambition with a warped turn to it! ’Twas nothing but 
the lust of killing born in him that he wouldn’t admit even 
to himself!—But go on, sir. What’s the next?” 

“Two days later, the fifteenth; that was Wednesday. 
He says: Tt must be Hughes. The neighbors are still 
amusing after their fashion and I could not be sure they 
would go outside of the Mall immediately. Physostig- 
mine is soluble in alcohol; I could put a grain or two in 
wine and leave it about but that will not do. I must give 
it to Hughes with my own hand. I shall have to await 
my opportunity, then give him a drink and send him on 
an errand to a strange part of town. I cannot wait!’— 
That’s all of that entry and the next one is midnight 
after the murder.—Tt is done! Hughes is dead and I 


290 


ANNIHILATION 


have killed him! I could shout, sing, dance as wildly as 
a savage about a pyre and yet I am strangely calm, like a 
god! I am a god, for I hold the power of life and death, 
I know what it is at last! The only drawback was that 
it was too easy; Hughes has been dissipating lately and 
it gave me an idea to-night. I mixed some bitters to¬ 
gether with a dash of absinthe—just enough for one dose 
—added two grains of the powdered bean and put it 
in an old tonic bottle. When Hughes came to lay 
out my things for dinner I told him he looked badly, 
needed more air and exercise and persuaded him to go 
out and take a long walk, breathing deeply. Then I 
gave him the drink I had prepared,—poured it out for 
him myself and watched it pass with a gurgle down his 
gross, fat neck! I looked at him when he put down the 
glass and could not realize that it was actually accom¬ 
plished! The man standing there -before me was a 
dead man even though he still moved and talked and 
probably thought of his dinner, and it was I who had 
done this! It had rested in my hands whether he 
should live or die and I had condemned and executed 
him! I shall never forget that moment of exquisite 
exhilaration, the ecstasy of omnipotence! But I was 
discreet, I controlled myself. I warned Hughes that 
the medicine might make him feel a trifle ill, might even 
restrict his breathing but he must walk it off and he 
would be greatly benefited. He actually thanked me— 
thanked me for bringing death upon him! All the 
evening while Goddard and the Sloanes were here, I 
kept my triumph to myself but nothing could withstand 
my sense of power. My bridge was unsurpassed—I 
knew that—and I played the organ as I never have played 
before!—And then it came, that for which I had been 


ANNIHILATION 291 

waiting. Three blockheads from the police arrived to 
tell me of Hughes’ death!’ ” 

McCarty chuckled grimly. 

“Fu Moy overheard that conversation and told me 
about it only to-day—between Orbit and Hughes, I mean, 
about the medicine. He don’t say anything about the fire 
after, does he?” 

Dennis looked up quickly as the inspector glanced 
ahead and nodded: 

“Here it is.—‘There was only one flaw in this magic 
evening. I used the powdered bean from the smaller 
box and it was just enough. I did not open the other, 
forgetting how long it had been since its contents had 
been exposed to the air, but thrust it down in a seam 
of the cushioned chair and almost immediately after I 
had gone downstairs spontaneous combustion occurred.’ ” 

“What-t!” Dennis sat forward tensely, and McCarty 
chuckled again. 

“I tried to read you that about Calabar bean in that 
article we had at the fire house yesterday afternoon but 
you wouldn’t listen!” he said. “I didn’t know what was 
this spontaneous combustion at all, till you happened 
to explain this morning, little thinking what was on my 
mind! . . . But what else does Orbit say about it?” 

“He goes on: ‘Fu Moy discovered it and Ching Lee 
put it out. Fortunately they did not find the box of 
Calabar bean.’—He raves on again about his feeling of 
power, glorying in it, but that is all.” The inspector 
slipped the page aside and glanced at the next. “This 
is dated Sunday, the nineteenth. ‘The police were active 
yesterday but they are quite at sea. I have no fear that 
they will discover anything, although the one called Mc¬ 
Carty seems to be possessed of a certain amount of na- 


292 


ANNIHILATION 


tive shrewdness and logic. No uproarious comedy has 
ever been so excruciatingly amusing as this investiga¬ 
tion but I am maintaining my pose of regretful employer 
of a worthy servant. I only wish that I could have 
used the gas; I made a fresh supply to-day only to be 
compelled to dissipate it unused. It is maddening! 
The death of Hughes has not satisfied this craving but 
intensified it. Death by violence, death that I may ex¬ 
perience the sensation of having caused it, while it is 
taking place—I hunger for it!’ ” 

The shadows were lengthening in the room and the 
cries of the mob outside the gates had subsided to a sullen 
murmur. In the moment of silence that followed the 
inspector’s reading of the paragraph, soft, slippered feet 
padded along the hall and Ching Lee stood before them. 

“The door has been opened,” he announced. “There 
is a second steel one behind it, even stronger than the first, 
but the men are trying a different acid and drill.” 

“Very well, Ching Lee. Turn on the lights, will you?” 
The inspector motioned toward the switch and in an 
instant the room was flooded with a brilliant glow from 
the low lamps scattered all about. “Tell the men to be 
as quick as they can, and let me know when they have 
finished; no one is to enter that room until we come.” 

The butler bowed and turning went up the stairs 
again. McCarty eyed the papers still remaining in the 
inspector’s hands. 

“Is there any entry in the diary for Monday?” 

“Only this, but it means a lot, considering what came 
later: 'Ching Lee reminded me that the coal has not 
been ordered this season. The dust from it is horrible, 
defiling my flowers and soiling everything. I shall not 
arrange for it until frost has come. Yet there is some- 


ANNIHILATION 


293 


thing fascinating, relentless, about the way it rushes 
down the chute like a miniature, sable avalanche. If we 
were pigmies, what death it could deal !’—Oh, there’s no 
doubt about it, Mac; the man is unquestionably mad!” 

“His ancestors weren’t; not all of them, at any rate!” 
McCarty responded grimly. “If the next that he’s 
written is on Tuesday night, it’ll be after Horace was 
killed.” 

“It is!” Inspector Druet’s voice shook with loathing. 
“This is the most damnable thing, Mac! He must have 
sat in that very chair where you are now, gloating over 
it as he wrote!—‘Once more I have usurped the preroga¬ 
tive of providence! I have taken a useless, sickly life, 
foredoomed to failure because it lacked the stamina to 
combat difficulties. Weakness! the only sin in the 
world! Had Horace Goddard lived he would have pro¬ 
faned art with mediocrity and as I look at the master¬ 
pieces about me I rejoice that his poor efforts are des¬ 
tined never to see the light,—destined because I so willed 
it, I am destiny! It was the luminal that put the thought 
into my mind, although I had no idea then whom I should 
remove. I forgot I possessed any till I looked over the 
store in my laboratory this morning. Two grains of 
that innocent looking coal tar product would bring ob¬ 
livion in twenty minutes and the coma would last for two 
or three hours, during which time death might be 
brought about in a dozen different ways! I played with 
the thought, it fascinated me, and I could fix my mind 
on nothing else, although Giambattista was coming to 
play this afternoon. If I could only know once more 
those intoxicating moments of last Friday night! 

“ ‘It was, then, just after lunch, that Horace slipped 
over to ask if he might study my Fragonard for a little 


294 


ANNIHILATION 


while. He came by way of the side door and none of 
the servants had seen him. I realized this and as I 
looked at him it came to me what a really unnecessary 
life his was, except in the fatuous eyes of his parents! 
What a subject for that coal tar product—and then I 
thought of the coal itself, that Ching Lee had spoken 
about yesterday. How easy it would be to render Hor¬ 
ace insensible and bury him under an avalanche of coal! 

“ ‘I could not resist the idea, it took possession of me! 
I coaxed the boy up to my sitting-room, induced him to 
drink a glass of milk in which I dropped two miraculous 
grains of luminal, and then I went and telephoned the 
coal-dealer. If he could not deliver, the boy would wake 
none the worse and my plan would only be deferred, but 
the order went through and when I rejoined him Horace 
was already drowsy. I shall never forget the exquisite 
agony of suspense during that half-hour. Horace slept 
at last and although I had to call the coal-dealer twice 
more my plan succeeded! I carried Horace to the cellar 
unseen and just in time, for the coal arrived and the 
crash* of it tumbling down the chute was like the roll of 
maddening drums! To hear it was enough, I did not 
want to see, and I was again in my sitting-room spraying 
the black dust from my flowers when the man McCarty 
and his associate were ushered in. I am not quite sure 
about McCarty; I have not underrated him, he is the 
type of the one-time policeman, elemental, phlegmatic, 
devoted to routine and without initiative, and yet he 
seemed to-day to be studying me V ” 

“He had me right!” McCarty grinned. “ ’Twas what 
I went there for!” 

“And me thinking you were stalling, and not getting 
it at all!” Dennis shook his head. “He’d a grand opin- 


ANNIHILATION 295 

ion of himself, all right, but a poorly-read one of you* 
Mac!” 

“Orbit goes on to mention Trafford’s call to inquire 
for Horace while you were here.” The inspector had 
been reading ahead. “Then he starts on to rave about 
the musicale and how he felt with the lad’s body under 
his very feet; he says that at the organ he surpassed 
Giambattista on the violin and he was drunk with what 
he had pulled off all the evening.” 

“He played all by himself later,” McCarty observed. 
“A funny, childish little tune and yet with something 
threatening and malicious about it, and whilst Denny 
was getting shaved this morning I found out what it was 
—a witch’s song from an opera called Hansel and 
Gretel,’ after the crone has lured children to her house 
and made away with them! That ought to have told me 
something if I’d known what it was!” 

“He says nothing of planning another murder, does 
he?” Dennis asked. “He must have run wild when he 
committed one the very next day—!” 

“The laboratory is open now, sir.” Ching Lee had 
reappeared so noiselessly that he seemed to have sprung 
into being on the threshold. “No one is there.” 

“No one!” The inspector started up with a cry, cram¬ 
ming the papers into his pocket. “My God, he has es¬ 
caped, after all!” 

“I don’t think so, sir,” McCarty demurred gravely. 
“Perhaps the men didn’t see him, but—we’d better lose 
no time!” 

They sprang up the stairs and passed the two great 
steel doors swinging idly on twisted hinges, into a long, 
low room, looking very much as Jean had described it. 
The closed cupboards below the shelving were too small 


296 


ANNIHILATION 


to have held a human body and there was no other hiding 
place nor any way of egress save the door by which they 
had entered. 

“We’ve been done, Mac!” the inspector exclaimed 
again, ruefully. “Unless the boys outside caught him, 
we’ll have a long chase on our hands!” 

“No.” McCarty stood looking up meditatively at 
the huge circular vat which occupied the center of the 
floor and rose for six or seven feet like a miniature gas 
tank. “Give me that step-ladder, will you, Denny? I 
want to see is this empty.” 

“By the smell of it, it’s not!” Dennis commented. 
“ ’Tis worse than asafcetida!” * 

He brought the ladder and McCarty ascended cautiously 
and peered over the top. The vat appeared to be almost 
filled with some thick, murky liquid with an oily film 
floating on the surface. When he had stared down into 
it for some minutes he descended, his ruddy face pale and 
tinged with greenish shadows. 

“Mac!” Dennis caught him solicitously as he reeled. 
“It’s sick you are! Come away out of this! Orbit’s 
not here!” 

“If I’m sick it’s from my own thoughts, Denny!” Mc¬ 
Carty replied shakily. “Where does that pipe lead to 
from the bottom of the vat ?” 

“To that huge receptacle over there.” It was the de¬ 
tective lieutenant who answered, pointing. “It’s to draw 
off whatever might be in there, I guess.” 

“Turn the cock, then, will you?” McCarty sat down 
suddenly and held his head in his hands. “I want to 
see the bottom of that vat!” 

The inspector looked startled and Dennis stared but 
they made no comment and one official mounted the 


ANNIHILATION 


297 


ladder while the other turned the cock. There was a 
gurgle and then a swishing rush as the liquid poured into 
the slender, solid pipe. 

“It’s going down,” the man on the ladder announced. 
“Whatever this greasy stuff is, it’s slipping through the 
pipe, all right! What do you think is at the bottom of 
it, Mac?” 

“I’m not wanting to think of it till I have to!” Mc¬ 
Carty groaned. “Sing out if—if it stops running out 
before the vat’s empty.” 

But the official, did not “sing out” and the waiting 
seemed interminable. At last, after the longest half-hour 
that any of them had known, he announced: 

“Vat’s quite empty, Mac! Except for scum it’s as 
clean as the floor! There’s six little things that look 
like pebbles rolling around in it, though; shall I climb 
down and get them?” 

“For heaven’s sake, no!” McCarty sprang to his feet. 
“ ’Tis sudden death and a horrible one, if you so much 
as touch the stuff that’s left there! Go and ask Andre 
for a lead spoon from the kitchen, and mind it’s lead!” 

The man obeyed and McCarty threw off his coat, 
climbed the ladder, and perched on the rim of the vat, 
while Dennis uttered agonized warnings from below. 
Then he drew up the ladder, planted it firmly inside the 
vat and when the detective returned with the required 
spoon he descended carefully to the lowest rung and 
scooped up the six gray pellets from the slime of the 
bottom. 

When he had climbed over and down once more, guard¬ 
ing his find with the utmost caution the others gathered 
around him and he shuddered as he addressed the in¬ 
spector. 


298 


ANNIHILATION 


“That vat is lined with lead, sir; nothing else but lead 
could hold that stuff for it eats everything away as if it 
hadn’t even been! You notice that ladder was purposely 
fixed with lead tips to the feet of it or it would have 
melted under me! I’ve heard of it but I never saw it be¬ 
fore. It’s hydrofluoric acid. ’Twill go through steel 
and rock and—and flesh and bone, and leave no sign! 
Do you get me ?” 

“I do, but it’s horrible!” The inspector shivered. 
“You mean that Orbit—! Was that what he meant by 
'annihilation’ ?” 

McCarty nodded. 

“You’ll mind there’s only one thing can resist it and 
that’s lead. This is all that is left of Henry Orbit—the 
six bullets from his revolver!” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE ADVICE OF EX-ROUNDSMAN MC CARTY 

«QHALL we go on?” the inspector asked. It was 
^ nearly midnight and the intervening time since 
that’ dreadful twilight hour in the laboratory had been 
taken up with the formalities necessarily resultant upon 
the final tragedy. He, McCarty and Dennis were alone 
in Orbit’s sitting-room once more, for the two other 
officials had returned to headquarters. As he spoke he 
took from his pocket the remaining pages of the diary. 

“That’s what Orbit wanted,” McCarty replied in a 
subdued tone. “He’s left the soul of him, such as it was, 
in those papers and though ’tis not a thing I’d like to let 
loose on the world, we know the worst of him and we 
ought to know the rest.” 

Dennis was still benumbed from the successive shocks 
of the day. He said nothing but his eyes, as the inspec¬ 
tor sorted the papers, followed the movements of his 
hands in awed fascination. 

“ ‘Wednesday night.’ ” The other settled himself to 
read. “ ‘For the third time in a week I have taken life, 
but the reaction is not the same. The mental exhilaration 
came but the thrill is gone, or rather it has changed into 
another sensation I have never known before. Is it fear? 
I honestly do not know. To-day I finished generating 
the gas for the third time and then, sure that I had the 
formula by heart, I destroyed it so that my knowledge 
299 


300 


ANNIHILATION 


should be absolute, mine alone. The longing for a worth¬ 
while experiment with it became an obsession and in 
actual agony, torment, I seated myself at the organ to 
seek peace. 

“ 'But for the first time music brought no relief to my 
mind and I felt stifling. I went to one of the windows 
to open it, and saw the French maid, Lucette, from next 
door, with little Maude Bellamy. The child had a new 
blue balloon and the thought came to me that if it were 
filled with the poison gas and they were in a closed 
room—! I invited them in to hear the organ and gave 
Maude some candy. As I had hoped she forgot her toy 
and dropped it. I picked it up and excused myself for a 
moment—only a moment, just long enough to hasten to 
my laboratory, deflate the balloon and fill it again with 
the gas. 

“ 'When I returned to the conservatory Lucette and 
the baby were still occupied with the candy. I handed 
the balloon to the child and then seated myself once more 
before the organ. Handel’s "Largo” came to me and 
how I played 1 The thought that at any instant that toy 
might burst tingled in my brain and I found myself listen¬ 
ing for it, tortured with suspense because it did not come. 
I stole a glance at my guests finally. They were seated 
side by side on the marble bench with the towering cactus 
just behind them, its spikes reaching out over their shoul¬ 
ders. If the balloon were to float toward one of them, if 
a breath of air should waft it against one of those gigantic 
thorns, as the child was holding it now, straight up into 
the air—! 

“ 'A louder, almost crescendo movement came just 
then in the music and I touched the swell pedal with my 
foot, urging the keys beneath my fingers. The shutters of 


THE ADVICE OF McCARTY 301 


the swell-box were forced open, the current of air rushed 
out with the swift volume of sound. But rising even 
above that glorious harmony there came a sudden, sharp 
report! I dared not cease playing lest others in the house 
might have heard it, I did not even dare to look around. 
Never has the “Largo” seemed so interminable, but at last, 
just as I came to the end, I heard—the patter of Maude’s 
feet! The baby had escaped me! 

“ T whirled around then and saw her playing about 
several feet away but Lucette was lying back dead, the 
remnants of the balloon at her feet! I rushed then to 
open the windows that the deadly vapors might not hang 
upon the air to betray me and after the room was quite 
clear of them I raised the alarm. 

“ ‘McCarty and his associate were passing and in su¬ 
preme confidence I had them called in, glorifying in their 
mystification. But the balloon disappeared! After the 
doctor and the medical examiner’s assistant had gone, 
after the body had been removed and the baby sent home 
the balloon was missing and somehow I feel, I know that 
McCarty has it! That he suspects! 

“ ‘Sir Philip has come but he is writing an important 
letter and I have taken the time to jot this down. I am 
going out. I have McCarty’s address. I must know! 

“ ‘Later. McCarty did have the balloon. He and his 
associate went out leaving the entrance door unlatched 
and one of the keys I took with me fitted the door of his 
apartment. I found the remnant of the balloon and 
brought it home, but that is of comparatively little im¬ 
portance now. With the knowledge that he actually sus¬ 
pects, this strange, new sensation came to me. Before, 
mine was the supreme power, I killed at will, but now I 
must kill to save myself! From being master I am be- 


302 


ANNIHILATION 


come slave—but slave of what?—I shall have use once 
more for that key!’ ” 

“Sure, he did!” McCarty nodded. “I told you about 
the revolver waiting for me on a pulley the next night, but 
I’d like to know how ever he got hold of a police positive!” 

“He tells that on the next page,” the inspector re¬ 
marked. “Here it is : 'I have just laid a trap for him in 
his rooms and he will blunder into it, but it has cost me 
the service revolver I picked up in one of my solitary 
walks down on the East Side, when a young policeman 
had been killed by gangsters and the body just removed. 
There is a retributive justice about my work to-night, 
for last night McCarty and his associate broke in here. 
I pretended to chloroform myself, hoping to hear from 
their conversation why they had come and how strong 
were their suspicions against me, but the man McCarty 
opened my windows and hurried his associate away. Can 
he have realized my ruse ? 

“ T am afraid, I know it now, but not of McCarty per¬ 
sonally. Individual to individual he is infinitely my in¬ 
ferior and yet there is about him a suggestion of strength 
which takes from me my sense of power. Is it because 
of what he represents ? I am above the law and beyond 
its reach, but is it because he stands for the law, for the 
cumulative will of society, that my own will seems almost 
puny?’” 

“Grand words!” McCarty grunted. “He was getting 
cold feet, that’s what! He’d let his craze for murder run 
away with him, after all, and then lost his nerve when he 
found he wasn’t putting it over!” 

“I don’t know about that, Mac!” Dennis shook his head. 
“Any guy that can plan such a finish for himself as he 
did don’t lack nerve, even if he was such a cold-blooded, 


THE ADVICE OF McCARTY 303 


black-hearted devil! I’m thinking he guessed right; it 
was the fear of the law, of every man’s hand being against 
him, that made him put his back to the wall!” 

“There’s just one more entry,” the inspector observed. 
“That one was dated Thursday and this one is Friday, 
the twenty-fourth.” 

“That’ll be yesterday, or rather last night. Let’s have 
it, inspector!” 

“Well.—T have failed! This morning, alive and un¬ 
harmed, McCarty came to the Mall! I cannot hurt him, I 
am powerless against him, he is the Law! But, for the 
man himself, I have underrated him; he is more shrewd 
and clever than I thought. To-day he came to me and in 
Sir Philip’s presence, with infinite tact, he let me know 
that he is aware it was I who made that attempt upon his 
life. Seemingly he holds no grudge; it is apparently a 
mere part of the game. He claims to have detected the 
odor of cigar smoke which I left behind me in his rooms, 
just as his associate smelled the smoke of that little blaze 
generated from the physostigmine. He gave me to un¬ 
derstand, also, that he knew of my trick with the chloro¬ 
form, and he lied most unnecessarily about minor details, 
with the full knowledge that I was aware of the truth. 
To-night he appeared again with utterly trivial questions 
and it is all too evident now that he is indeed studying 
me, making up his mind. 

“ T have a peculiar, indescribable feeling, almost a con¬ 
viction, that he will win out in this contest between us! 
If he does, I shall know what to do; from this hour I shall 
be prepared. I am the last of my line and for such a 
line there can be but one end,—annihilation! I am pos¬ 
sessed with an odd desire that he should read these pages 
and if he wins I shall arrange to have them pass into his 


304 


ANNIHILATION 


hands. It grows late and I am tired. I wonder what 
to-morrow will bring?’—That is all, Mac. That is the 
last word!” 

“Well, he knows now!” McCarty drew a deep breath. 
“I’m glad that’s over! It’s going to take me all my time 
to forget these last ten days, I can tell you!” 

“There’s more than one thing that’s not clear to me 
yet,” Dennis remarked reflectively. “For instance, Mac, 
you said Hughes had been took sick sudden. I heard 
nothing about it.” 

“You did, Denny, the same as me, only you didn’t get 
it. All the other servants told of how greedy he was 
starting in with his dinner, and how all of a sudden 
he didn’t want any more, not even the things he was most 
partial to; ’twas the Calabar bean first working in him, 
making him sick. He got out into the air and walked 
like he’d been told, poor devil, till he dropped in his 
tracks! But he knew the truth in the end! Do you 
mind the horror I saw in his face and how hard he tried to 
speak and tell me?” 

“But what really made you suspect the truth, Mac?” 
the inspector asked. “Was it the toy balloon?” 

“Partly. Then again, when Ching Lee called us into 
the conservatory with Lucette lying there dead, it seemed 
to me that Orbit was a trifle too calm and collected, for all 
his fine-spoken words. He had his story down too pat 
and he didn’t talk in short, jerky sentences, like a man 
does when he’s almost beside himself; every word was 
said for effect, as if he was acting a part. He forgot it 
too quick, too. Even yesterday, when Sir Philip was 
talking about Lucette’s death, he was more amused with 
the way the Britisher was trying to express himself, than 


THE ADVICE OF McCARTY 305 

sorrowful over the murder, and the girl not two days 
cold! 

“After I left him I went to a little joint to get a bite 
and whilst I waited I was feeling pretty rotten because 
I couldn’t see my way clear like in the old days. It came 
over me that I’d been getting rusty since I was out of 
the game and I kind of wished I was back again, though 
I remember well what a dog’s life it was in some ways. 
That is just the phrase that come in my mind, ‘a dog’s 
life’—and then I thought of Max! 

“He was forever hovering around that coal chute as if 
there was something down there he wanted—then I re¬ 
membered the coal getting put in, and the lad missing 
right at that hour, and the whole thing broke over me!” 

“But you said you’d had the key to it all right in your 
hands from the start!” Dennis objected. 

“I had. It was this!” McCarty reached in his pocket 
and drew forth a thin pamphlet bound in blue paper. 
“You’ve both kidded me about reading up on this psychol¬ 
ogy stuff, to try to keep up with the boys down at head¬ 
quarters, but it was getting to me and I wanted everything 
I could lay my hands on that seemed to have any bearing 
on it. The first night, when we came here to let Orbit 
know his valet was dead, I found this behind some other 
books downstairs in the library and I—borrowed it. It 
turned out to be nothing at all but the history of a fam¬ 
ily, like a kind of a sermon on heredity, and I saw it had 
been published in London. I began to read it, wondering 
why Orbit would be interested in it, and I never heard the 
like of such a crew! From sheep-stealing to assassinat¬ 
ing crowned heads, there was nothing they didn’t go in 
for, and I’d say that not one in ten generations died in 


306 


ANNIHILATION 


their beds! They were a rare old family, the Jessups!” 

“ ‘Jessups!’ ” the inspector repeated. “Why, they’re 
the family I spoke about this morning, though I couldn’t 
recall the name!—the ones that are contrasted with the 
grand record of the Parsons.” 

“Sure, they are!” McCarty grinned. Then his face 
sobered. “I knew it then, for I’d put in good time in 
the library on Thursday looking them both up, but I didn’t 
mention it because Orbit himself is the last of the Jes¬ 
sups.” 

“Orbit—!” 

“His grandmother on his mother’s side was the 
daughter of old Gideon Jessups who was hung down 
South for highway robbery and murder; another of his 
daughters died insane and two of his sons were convicts 
—but there’s no use going into it all. You’ll mind you 
said the male members of the line died out long ago, 
but it happens that no record was kept of the female side 
of the house except this little book here. I’m going to 
tell Parsons in the morning, for he’ll not spread such a 
thing, and there’s something I want to know. If there’s 
any sense at all to this heredity notion, it don’t look as if 
Henry Orbit stood much of a chance!” 

* * * * * * * 

“I can scarcely believe it yet, gentlemen!” Benjamin 
Parsons exclaimed. “The news that Henry Orbit had 
committed suicide in some mysterious manner, leaving a 
written confession, came like a thunderclap but now that 
you tell me the blood of the Jessups flows in his veins 
it explains many things!” 

“Did you ever meet Orbit, Mr. Parsons?” McCarty 
asked. “Ever talk to him?” 

“Once. It was two years ago but the experience, 


THE ADVICE OF McCARTY 307 

though trivial in itself, was so curiously unpleasant that 
it has never passed completely from my mind.” He 
paused, glancing toward the window through which the 
sunshine was pouring and listening to the not-far-distant 
chiming of church bells. “I came home very late from 
an evening meeting of a charitable organization. It was 
raining in torrents, I had forgotten my key to the gates 
and the watchman was standing in the shelter of a door¬ 
way far down the block; I could not attract his attention 
and I was drenched. All at once some one came up be¬ 
hind me, said: ‘Allow me, Mr. Parsons!’ and opened 
the gate for me. I was surprised, for the voice was un¬ 
known to me, but in the light of the street lamp I rec¬ 
ognized Henry Orbit. 

“You are familiar with his appearance, you have 
heard his voice, felt the magnetism of his personality 
and its dominance ; did you feel also that strange sense 
of antagonism that is almost physical, as though you 
shrank from his touch, dreaded to breathe the same air?” 

I can’t say I have, Mr. Parsons,” the inspector re¬ 
plied thoughtfully. “As though he were a reptile, some¬ 
thing poisonous, you mean? No, until yesterday I 
thought Orbit was a fine man. He had me buffaloed.” 

“I mean as though he were the incarnation of all things 
evil!” Parsons’ voice was very low. “I did not gain 
that impression at first so strongly, but I felt a curious 
repugnance toward him in spite of the charm of his 
manner. He walked down the block with me, taking it 
for granted that his company was welcome and I re¬ 
sponded as cordially as I could, for he had just rendered 
me a service. 

“When we were opposite my own house I paused, 
thanking him once more for his kindness, and started 


308 


ANNIHILATION 


to take leave of him, when he astounded and distressed 
me by asking me to come into his house for a little while. 
He said that he was lonely, a saddened mood was upon 
him and he would greatly appreciate it if I could spare 
him half an hour. 

“I could not very well refuse, but it was with a re¬ 
luctance wholly out of proportion that I accepted his in¬ 
vitation. His house, although comparatively small, was 
beautiful beyond any palaces I have seen abroad and 
filled with priceless works of art but without any tan¬ 
gible reason my aversion deepened to actual horror. A 
tall Chinese servant had taken my hat and Henry Orbit 
led me to his library, pressing refreshments on me and 
talking fluently and well on a variety of topics. I en¬ 
deavored to listen, to reply pleasantly, but all the time 
my uncharitable, unreasoning loathing of him increased 
and I longed, as I have never longed for anything else in 
this world, to be out in the storm once more—anywhere, 
away from that house! 

“I am sure this must sound like madness to you, but 
I cannot explain it even to myself. I only know that 
my horror deepened as the moments passed and at last 
I did an unpardonable thing! I rose in the middle of 
a sentence from him and without a word of explanation 
or excuse I—I fled the house! I cannot yet describe 
the motive which actuated me, nor could I then have 
found any reason for it beyond an overmastering im¬ 
pulse. I have never known such a feeling against a 
stranger before in all my life I’’ 

“You went out into the storm, Mr. Parsons—with¬ 
out your hat?” McCarty asked suddenly. The in¬ 
spector smothered a half audible exclamation and Dennis 
stared. 


THE ADVICE OF McCARTY 309 

“I really forget—but I must have done so, of course, 
for I distinctly remember the cold rain beating down 
upon my bare head as I crossed the street, and being 
most grateful for it.” 

“Then you left your hat hanging up in Orbit’s house,” 
McCarty pursued. “Can you recall what it was like, Mr. 
Parsons? Could it have been a soft, dark felt?” 

“Probably. I seldom wear any other.” Then Par¬ 
sons started slightly. “You don’t mean—! Could it 
really have been my hat, after all, that the unfortunate 
valet was wearing when he fell dead!” 

“It looks that way, since your initials were in it,” 
McCarty added: “That was the final detail we had not 
cleared up.” 

“But why, sir!” Dennis found his voice. “Why did 
you feel that way towards Orbit? He took in every¬ 
body else in the world!” 

“I’m thinking I’ve got the answer to that, though it 
may sound like blarney saying it to your face, Mr. 
Parsons. We know who your family are and their 
record. ’Tis one to be proud of!” 

“It is one to be thankful for,” Mr. Parsons replied 
modestly. “But I should like to hear your theory.” 

“Well, we know who the Jessups were, too, and ’tis 
my opinion that the good in you for which you’re not 
responsible, and the evil in him which he couldn’t help, 
just sort of recognized each other at once and what you 
call your instinct warned you to get away.” 

“It may be.” Mr. Parsons eyed him wonderingly. 
“I think you have grasped it, Mr. McCarty; the good 
and evil that men do live after them! I know it seemed 
to me that satanic vapors were rising all about me in that 
house and that I was in the presence of a monster! It 


310 


ANNIHILATION 


never even occurred to me to make excuses for my con¬ 
duct or send for my hat!” 

“There’s just one thing that I’m curious about, though 
it has nothing to do with the murders. Have you missed 
this ? It was with your papers when they came into our 
hands.” He produced the silver leaf and Parsons’ face 
lighted up. 

“Ah, that is the bookmark I slipped between the pages 
of my encyclopaedia! I told you that a leaf was torn from 
it! I am glad, indeed, to regain this, for it is a souvenir 
from a dear friend, an English army officer then sta¬ 
tioned in South Africa—” 

“It comes from Table Mountain, don’t it, off of a silver 
tree ?” McCarty smiled also as he rose. “Mr. Parsons, 
we’ll be keeping you no longer. The trouble’s been laid 
for all time here in the Mall, I’m thinking, and there’ll 
be no more evil come out of that house over the way.” 

“And you three have brought peace to us again in a 
miraculous manner!” Mr. Parsons held out his hand. 
“Without you and the providence which led you to the 
truth I shudder to think what further horrors might have 
been visited upon us!” 

“I don’t know about providence!” McCarty’s eyes 
twinkled. “I’m no hand at giving advice as a general 
thing but if I was to offer a word of it to you, sir, 
’twould be this:—in future, be mighty careful where you 
hang your hat!” 


THE END 



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